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;vvhat  1  love  mod  ." 


BRUCE  GOTTEN 


COLLECTION 

OF 

NORTH     CAROLINIANA 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/cabbageskingshenr 


CABBAGES   AND  KINGS 


CABBAGES 
AND  KINGS 

BY 

O.   HENRY 


V  MCC  '  P  •/ 

A  &:.■  Co  A 
93i'      Q        itfS 

1* 

t       1 

.N   Y     :    \1 

NEW  YORK 

McCLURE,   PHILLIPS  &  CO. 

MCM1V 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  &  CO. 

Published,  November,  1904 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Proem  :  By  the  Carpenter      .     .  3 

i.  "  fox-in-the-morning "     ....  11 

II.  The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle     .     .  27 

III.  Smith 48 

IV.  Caught 69 

V.  Cupid's  Exile  Number  Two      .     .  91 

VI.  The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  102 

VII.  Money  Maze 126 

VIII.  The  Admiral 144 

IX.  The  Flag  Paramount 159 

X.  The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  .     .  177 

XI.  The  Remnants  of  the  Code     .     .  208 

XII.  Shoes 225 

XIII.  Ships 242 

XIV.  Masters  of  Arts 257 

XV.  Dicky 285 

XVI.  Rouge  et  Noir 307 

XVII.  Two  Recalls 324 

XVIII.  The  Vitagraphoscope 339 


CABBAGES    AND    KINGS 


"  The  time  has  come"  the  Walrus  said, 
"  To  talk  of  many  things  ; 
Of  shoes  and  ships  and  sealing-wax, 
And  cabbages  and  kings." 


THE   WALRUS    AND   THE   CARPENTER 


THE    PROEM: 

By  the  Carpenter 


1  HEY  will  tell  you  in  Anchuria,  that  President 
Miraflores,  of  that  volatile  republic,  died  by  his  own 
hand  in  the  coast  town  of  Coralio;  that  he  had 
reached  thus  far  in  flight  from  the  inconveniences  of 
an  imminent  revolution ;  and  that  one  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars,  government  funds,  which  he  carried 
with  him  in  an  American  leather  valise  as  a  souvenir 
of  his  tempestuous  administration,  was  never  after- 
ward recovered. 

For  a  real,  a  boy  will  show  you  his  grave.  It  is 
back  of  the  town  near  a  little  bridge  that  spans  a 
mangrove  swamp.  A  plain  slab  of  wood  stands  at 
its  head.  Some  one  has  burned  upon  the  headstone 
with  a  hot  iron  this  inscription: 


4  Cabbages  and  Kings 

RAMON  ANGEL  DE  LAS  CRUZES 

Y  MIRAFLORES 

PRESIDENTE  DE  LA  REPUBLICA 

DE  ANCHURIA 

QUE  SEA  SU  JUEZ  DIOS 

It  is  characteristic  of  this  buoyant  people  that  they 
pursue  no  man  beyond  the  grave.  "  Let  God  be  his 
judge ! "  —  Even  with  the  hundred  thousand  unfound, 
though  greatly  coveted,  the  hue  and  cry  went  no  fur- 
ther than  that. 

To  the  stranger  or  the  guest  the  people  of  Coralio 
will  relate  the  story  of  the  tragic  end  of  their  former 
president;  how  he  strove  to  escape  from  the  country 
with  the  public  funds  and  also  with  Dona  Isabel 
Guilbert,  the  young  American  opera  singer;  and  how, 
being  apprehended  by  members  of  the  opposing  polit- 
ical party  in  Coralio,  he  shot  himself  through  the 
head  rather  than  give  up  the  funds,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, the  Sefiorita  Guilbert.  They  will  relate 
further  that  Dona  Isabel,  her  adventurous  bark  of 
fortune  shoaled  by  the  simultaneous  loss  of  her  dis- 
tinguished admirer  and  the  souvenir  hundred  thou- 
sand, dropped  anchor  on  this  stagnant  coast,  await- 
ing a  rising  tide. 


The  Proem  5 

They  say,  in  Coralio,  that  she  found  a  prompt  and 
prosperous  tide  in  the  form  of  Frank  Goodwin,  an 
American  resident  of  the  town,  an  investor  who  had 
grown  wealthy  by  dealing  in  the  products  of  the  coun- 
try —  a  banana  king,  a  rubber  prince,  a  sarsaparilla, 
indigo,  and  mahogany  baron.  The  Senorita  Guil- 
bert,  you  will  be  told,  married  Sefior  Goodwin  one 
month  after  the  president's  death,  thus,  in  the  very 
moment  when  Fortune  had  ceased  to  smile,  wresting 
from  her  a  gift  greater  than  the  prize  withdrawn. 

Of  the  American,  Don  Frank  Goodwin,  and  of  his 
wife  the  natives  have  nothing  but  good  to  say.  Don 
Frank  has  lived  among  them  for  years,  and  has  com- 
pelled their  respect.  His  lady  is  easily  queen  of  what 
social  life  the  sober  coast  affords.  The  wife  of  the 
governor  of  the  district,  herself,  who  was  of  the  proud 
Castilian  family  of  Monteleon  y  Dolorosa  de  los 
Santos  y  Mendez,  feels  honoured  to  unfold  her  nap- 
kin with  olive-hued,  ringed  hands  at  the  table  of 
Sefiora  Goodwin.  Were  you  to  refer  (with  your 
northern  prejudices)  to  the  vivacious  past  of  Mrs. 
Goodwin  when  her  audacious  and  gleeful  abandon 
in  light  opera  captured  the  mature  president's  fancy, 


6  Cabbages  and  Kings 

or  to  her  share  in  that  statesman's  downfall  and  mal- 
feasance, the  Latin  shrug  of  the  shoulder  would  be 
your  only  answer  and  rebuttal.  What  prejudices 
there  were  in  Coralio  concerning  Sefiora  Goodwin 
seemed  now  to  be  in  her  favour,  whatever  they  had 
been  in  the  past. 

It  would  seem  that  the  story  is  ended,  instead  of 
begun;  that  the  close  of  a  tragedy  and  the  climax  of 
a  romance  have  covered  the  ground  of  interest;  but, 
to  the  more  curious  reader  it  shall  be  some  slight  in- 
struction to  trace  the  close  threads  that  underlie  the 
ingenuous  web  of  circumstances. 

The  headpiece  bearing  the  name  of  President 
Miraflores  is  daily  scrubbed  with  soap-bark  and 
sand.  An  old  half-breed  Indian  tends  the  grave  with 
fidelity  and  the  dawdling  minuteness  of  inherited 
sloth.  He  chops  down  the  weeds  and  ever-springing 
grass  with  his  machete,  he  plucks  ants  and  scorpions 
and  beetles  from  it  with  his  horny  fingers,  and 
sprinkles  its  turf  with  water  from  the  plaza  fountain. 
There  is  no  grave  anywhere  so  well  kept  and  ordered. 

Only  by  following  out  the  underlying  threads  will 
it  be  made  clear  why  the  old  Indian,   Galvez,  is 


The  Proem  7 

secretly  paid  to  keep  green  the  grave  of  President 
Miraflores  by  one  who  never  saw  that  unfortunate 
statesman  in  life  or  in  death,  and  why  that  one  was 
wont  to  walk  in  the  twilight,  casting  from  a  distance 
looks  of  gentle  sadness  upon  that  unhonoured  mound. 

Elsewhere  than  at  Coralio  one  learns  of  the  im- 
petuous career  of  Isabel  Guilbert.  New  Orleans 
gave  her  birth  and  the  mingled  French  and  Spanish 
Creole  nature  that  tinctured  her  life  with  such  tur- 
bulence and  warmth.  She  had  little  education,  but 
a  knowledge  of  men  and  motives  that  seemed  to  have 
come  by  instinct.  Far  beyond  the  common  woman 
was  she  endowed  with  intrepid  rashness,  with  a  love 
for  the  pursuit  of  adventure  to  the  brink  of  danger, 
and  with  desire  for  the  pleasures  of  life.  Her  spirit 
was  one  to  chafe  under  any  curb;  she  was  Eve  after 
the  fall,  but  before  the  bitterness  of  it  was  felt.  She 
wore  life  as  a  rose  in  her  bosom. 

Of  the  legion  of  men  who  had  been  at  her  feet 
it  was  said  that  but  one  was  so  fortunate  as  to  engage 
her  fancy.  To  President  Miraflores,  the  brilliant 
but  unstable  ruler  of  Anchuria,  she  yielded  the  key 
to  her  resolute  heart.     How,  then,  do  we  find  her  (as 


8  Cabbages  and  Kings 

the  Coralians  would  have  told  you)  the  wife  of  Frank 
Goodwin,  and  happily  living  a  life  of  dull  and  dreamy 
inaction  ? 

The  underlying  threads  reach  far,  stretching  across 
the  sea.  Following  them  out  it  will  be  made  plain 
why  "Shorty"  O'Day,  of  the  Columbia  Detective 
Agency,  resigned  his  position.  And,  for  a  lighter 
pastime,  it  shall  be  a  duty  and  a  pleasing  sport  to 
wander  with  Momus  beneath  the  tropic  stars  where 
Melpomene  once  stalked  austere.  Now  to  cause 
laughter  to  echo  from  those  lavish  jungles  and 
frowning  crags  where  formerly  rang  the  cries  of 
pirates'  victims;  to  lay  aside  pike  and  cutlass  and 
attack  with  quip  and  jollity;  to  draw  one  saving  titter 
of  mirth  from  the  rusty  casque  of  Romance — this 
were  pleasant  to  do  in  the  shade  of  the  lemon-trees 
on  that  coast  that  is  curved  like  lips  set  for  smiling. 

For  there  are  yet  tales  of  the  Spanish  Main.  That 
segment  of  continent  washed  by  the  tempestuous  Ca- 
ribbean, and  presenting  to  the  sea  a  formidable  border 
of  tropical  jungle  topped  by  the  overweening  Cordil- 
leras, is  still  begirt  by  mystery  and  romance.  In  past 
times  buccaneers  and  revolutionists  roused  the  echoes 


The  Proem  9 

of  its  cliffs,  and  the  condor  wheeled  perpetually  above 
where,  in  the  green  groves,  they  made  food  for  him 
with  their  matchlocks  and  toledos.  Taken  and  re- 
taken by  sea  rovers,  by  adverse  powers  and  by  sudden 
uprising  of  rebellious  factions,  the  historic  300  miles 
of  adventurous  coast  has  scarcely  known  for  hun- 
dreds of  years  whom  rightly  to  call  its  master.  Pi- 
zarro,  Balboa,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  and  Bolivar  did 
what  they  could  to  make  it  a  part  of  Christendom. 
Sir  John  Morgan,  Lafitte  and  other  eminent  swash- 
bucklers bombarded  and  pounded  it  in  the  name  of 
Abaddon. 

The  game  still  goes  on.  The  guns  of  the  rovers 
are  silenced ;  but  the  tintype  man,  the  enlarged  photo- 
graph brigand,  the  kodaking  tourist  and  the  scouts  of 
the  gentle  brigade  of  fakirs  have  found  it  out,  and 
carry  on  the  work.  The  hucksters  of  Germany, 
France,  and  Sicily  now  bag  its  small  change  across 
their  counters.  Gentlemen  adventurers  throng  the 
waiting-rooms  of  its  rulers  with  proposals  for  railways 
and  concessions.  The  little  opera-bouffe  nations  play 
at  government  and  intrigue  until  some  day  a  big,  silent 
gunboat  glides  into  the  offing  and  warns  them  not  to 


10  Cabbages  and  Kings 

break  their  toys.  And  with  these  changes  comes 
also  the  small  adventurer,  with  empty  pockets  to  fill, 
light  of  heart,  busy-brained  —  the  modern  fairy 
prince,  bearing  an  alarm  clock  with  which,  more 
surely  than  by  the  sentimental  kiss,  to  awaken  the 
beautiful  tropics  from  their  centuries'  sleep.  Gene- 
rally he  wears  a  shamrock,  which  he  matches  pride- 
fully  against  the  extravagant  palms;  and  it  is  he 
who  has  driven  Melpomene  to  the  wings,  and  set 
Comedy  to  dancing  before  the  footlights  of  the  South- 
ern Cross. 

So,  there  is  a  little  tale  to  tell  of  many  things.  Per- 
haps to  the  promiscuous  ear  of  the  Walrus  it  shall 
come  with  most  avail;  for  in  it  there  are  indeed 
shoes  and  ships  and  sealing-wax  and  cabbage-palms 
and  presidents  instead  of  kings. 

Add  to  these  a  little  love  and  counterplotting,  and 
scatter  everywhere  throughout  the  maze  a  trail  of 
tropical  dollars  —  dollars  warmed  no  more  by  the 
torrid  sun  than  by  the  hot  palms  of  the  scouts  of  For.- 
tune  —  and,  after  all,  here  seems  to  be  Life,  itself, 
with  talk  enough  to  weary  the  most  garrulous  of 
Walruses. 


CHAPTER   ONE 
"  Fox-in-the-Morning  " 

V^ORALIO  reclined,  in  the  mid-day  heat,  like  some 
vacuous  beauty  lounging  in  a  guarded  harem.  The 
town  lay  at  the  sea's  edge  on  a  strip  of  alluvial  coast. 
It  was  set  like  a  little  pearl  in  an  emerald  band.  Be- 
hind it,  and  seeming  almost  to  topple,  imminent, 
above  it,  rose  the  sea-following  range  of  the  Cordil- 
leras. In  front  the  sea  was  spread,  a  smiling  jailer, 
but  even  more  incorruptible  than  the  frowning  moun- 
tains. The  waves  swished  along  the  smooth  beach; 
the  parrots  screamed  in  the  orange  and  ceiba-trees; 
the  palms  waved  their  limber  fronds  foolishly  .like 
an  awkward  chorus  at  the  prima  donna's  cue  to  enter. 
Suddenly  the  town  was  full"  of  excitement.  A 
native  boy  dashed  down  a  grass-grown  street,  shriek- 


12  Cabbages  and  Kings 

ing:     "  Busca  el  Se%or   Goodwin.     Ha  venido  un 

teUgrajo  for  el  I " 

The  word  passed  quickly.  Telegrams  do  not  often 
come  to  anyone  in  Coralio.  The  cry  for  Senor  Good- 
win was  taken  up  by  a  dozen  officious  voices.  The 
main  street  running  parallel  to  the  beach  became  pop- 
ulated with  those  who  desired  to  expedite  the  delivery 
of  the  despatch.  Knots  of  women  with  complexions 
varying  from  palest  olive  to  deepest  brown  gath- 
ered at  street  corners  and  plaintively  carolled :  "  Un 
teUgrajo  for  Seizor  Goodwin!"  The  comandante, 
Don  Senor  el  Coronel  Encarnaci6n  Rios,  who  was 
loyal  to  the  Ins  and  suspected  Goodwin's  devotion 
to  the  Outs,  hissed:  "  Aha !  "  and  wrote  in  his  secret 
memorandum  book  the  accusive  fact  that  Senor 
Goodwin  had  on  that  momentous  date  received  a 
telegram. 

In  the  midst  of  the  hullabaloo  a  man  stepped  to 
the  door  of  a  small  wooden  building  and  looked  out. 
Above  the  door  was  a  sign  that  read  "Keogh  and 
Clancy"—  a  nomenclature  that  seemed  not  to  be  in- 
digenous to  that  tropical  soil.  The  man  in  the  door 
was  Billy  Keogh,  scout  of  fortune  and  progress  and 


Fox-in-the- Morning  13 

latter-day  rover  of  the  Spanish  Main.  Tintypes  and 
photographs  were  the  weapons  with  which  Keogh 
and  Clancy  were  at  that  time  assailing  the  helpless 
shores.  Outside  the  shop  were  set  two  large  frames 
filled  with  specimens  of  their  art  and  skill. 

Keogh  leaned  in  the  doorway,  his  bold  and  humor- 
ous countenance  wearing  a  look  of  interest  at  the 
unusual  influx  of  life  and  sound  into  the  street.  When 
the  meaning  of  the  disturbance  became  clear  to  him 
he  placed  a  hand  beside  his  mouth  and  shouted: 
"Hey!  Frank!"  in  such  a  robustious  voice  that  the 
feeble  clamour  of  the  natives  was  drowned  and 
silenced. 

Fifty  yards  away,  on  the  seaward  side  of  the  street, 
stood  the  abode  of  the  consul  for  the  United  States. 
Out  from  the  door  of  this  building  tumbled  Goodwin 
at  the  call.  He  had  been  smoking  with  Willard  Ged- 
die,  the  consul,  on  the  back  porch  of  the  consulate, 
which  was  conceded  to  be  the  coolest  spot  in  Coralio. 

"Hurry  up,"  shouted  Keogh.  "There's  a  riot  in 
town  on  account  of  a  telegram  that's  come  for  you. 
You  want  to  be  careful  about  these  things,  my  boy. 
It  won't  do  to  trifle  with  the  feelings  of  the  public 


14  Cabbages  and  Kings 

this  way.  You'll  be  getting  a  pink  note  some  day 
with  violet  scent  on  it;  and  then  the  country'll  be 
steeped  in  the  throes  of  a  revolution." 

Goodwin  had  strolled  up  the  street  and  met  the 
boy  with  the  message.  The  ox-eyed  women  gazed 
at  him  with  shy  admiration,  for  his  type  drew  them. 
He  was  big,  blonde,  and  jauntily  dressed  in  white 
linen,  with  buckskin  zapatos.  His  manner  was 
courtly,  with  a  sort  of  kindly  truculence  in  it,  tem- 
pered by  a  merciful  eye.  When  the  telegram  had 
been  delivered,  and  the  bearer  of  it  dismissed  with  a 
gratuity,  the  relieved  populace  returned  to  the  con- 
tiguities of  shade  from  which  curiosity  had  drawn 
it  —  the  women  to  their  baking  in  the  mud  ovens 
under  the  orange-trees,  or  to  the  interminable  comb- 
ing of  their  long,  straight  hair;  the  men  to  their 
cigarettes  and  gossip  in  the  cantinas. 

Goodwin  sat  on  Keogh's  doorstep,  and  read  his 
telegram.  It  was  from  Bob  Englehart,  an  American, 
who  lived  in  San  Mateo,  the  capital  city  of  Anchuria, 
eighty  miles  in  the  interior.  Englehart  was  a  gold 
miner,  an  ardent  revolutionist  and  "good  people." 
That  he  was  a  man  of  resource  and  imagination  was 


Fox-in-the- Morning  15 

proven  by  the  telegram  he  had  sent.  It  had  been  his 
task  to  send  a  confidential  message  to  his  friend  in 
Coralio.  This  could  not  have  been  accomplished  in 
either  Spanish  or  English,  for  the  eye  politic  in  An- 
churia  was  an  active  one.  The  Ins  and  the  Outs 
were  perpetually  on  their  guard.  But  Englehart 
was  a  diplomatist.  There  existed  but  one  code  upon 
which  he  might  make  requisition  with  promise  of 
safety  —  the  great  and  potent  code  of  Slang.  So, 
here  is  the  message  that  slipped,  unconstrued, 
through  the  fingers  of  curious  officials,  and  came  to 
the  eye  of  Goodwin : 

"His  Nibs  skedaddled  yesterday  per  jack-rabbit 
fine  with  all  the  coin  in  the  kitty  and  the  bundle  of 
muslin  he's  spoony  about.  The  boodle  is  six  figures 
short.  Our  crowd  in  good  shape,  but  we  need  the 
spondulicks.  You  collar  it.  The  main  guy  and  the 
dry  goods  are  headed  for  the  briny.  You  know 
what  to  do.  BOB." 

This  screed,  remarkable  as  it  was,  had  no  mystery 
for  Goodwin.  He  was  the  most  successful  of  the 
small  advance-guard  of  speculative  Americans  that 
had  invaded  Anchuria,  and  he  had  not  reached  that 


16  Cabbages  and  Kings 

enviable  pinnacle  without  having  well  exercised  the 
arts  of  foresight  and  deduction.  He  had  taken  up 
political  intrigue  as  a  matter  of  business.  He  was 
acute  enough  to  wield  a  certain  influence  among  the 
leading  schemers,  and  he  was  prosperous  enough  to 
be  able  to  purchase  the  respect  of  the  petty  office- 
holders. There  was  always  a  revolutionary  party; 
and  to  it  he  had  always  allied  himself;  for  the  adhe- 
rents of  a  new  administration  received  the  rewards 
of  their  labours.  There  was  now  a  Liberal  party 
seeking  to  overturn  President  Miraflores.  If  the 
wheel  successfully  revolved,  Goodwin  stood  to  win  a 
concession  to  30,000  manzanas  of  the  finest  coffee 
lands  in  the  interior.  Certain  incidents  in  the  recent 
career  of  President  Miraflores  had  excited  a  shrewd 
suspicion  in  Goodwin's  mind  that  the  government 
was  near  a  dissolution  from  another  cause  than  that 
of  a  revolution,  and  now  Englehart's  telegram  had 
come  as  a  corroboration  of  his  wisdom. 

The  telegram,  which  had  remained  unintelligible  to 
the  Anchurian  linguists  who  had  applied  to  it  in  vain 
their  knowledge  of  Spanish  and  elemental  English, 
conveyed  a  stimulating  piece  of  news  to  Goodwin's 


F  ox -in-the- Morning  17 

understanding.  It  informed  him  that  the  president 
of  the  republic  had  decamped  from  the  capital  city 
with  the  contents  of  the  treasury.  Furthermore,  that 
he  was  accompanied  in  his  flight  by  that  winning 
adventuress  Isabel  Guilbert,  the  opera  singer,  whose 
troupe  of  performers  had  been  entertained  by  the 
president  at  San  Mateo  during  the  past  month  on  a 
scale  less  modest  than  that  with  which  royal  visitors 
are  often  content.  The  reference  to  the  "jack-rab- 
bit line  "  could  mean  nothing  else  than  the  mule-back 
system  of  transport  that  prevailed  between  Coralio 
and  the  capital.  The  hint  that  the  "boodle"  was 
"  six  figures  short "  made  the  condition  of  the  national 
treasury  lamentably  clear.  Also  it  was  convincingly 
true  that  the  ingoing  party  —  its  way  now  made  a 
pacific  one  —  would  need  the  "  spondulicks."  Un- 
less its  pledges  should  be  fulfilled,  and  the  spoils  held 
for  the  delectation  of  the  victors,  precarious  indeed, 
would  be  the  position  of  the  new  government.  There- 
fore it  was  exceeding  necessary  to  "collar  the  main 
guy,"  and  recapture  the  sinews  of  war  and  govern- 
ment. 

Goodwin  handed  the  message  to  Keogh. 


18  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"Read  that,  Billy,"  he  said.  "It's  from  Bob 
Englehart.     Can  you  manage  the  cipher  ?  " 

Keogh  sat  in  the  other  half  of  the  doorway,  and 
carefully  perused  the  telegram. 

"  'Tis  not  a  cipher,"  he  said,  finally.  "  'Tis  what 
they  call  literature,  and  that's  a  system  of  language 
put  in  the  mouths  of  people  that  they've  never  been 
introduced  to  by  writers  of  imagination.  The  maga- 
zines invented  it,  but  I  never  knew  before  that  Presi- 
dent Norvin  Green  had  stamped  it  with  the  seal  of 
his  approval.  'Tis  now  no  longer  literature,  but  lan- 
guage. The  dictionaries  tried,  but  they  couldn't 
make  it  go  for  anything  but  dialect.  Sure,  now  that 
the  Western  Union  indorses  it,  it  won't  be  long  till 
a  race  of  people  will  spring  up  that  speaks  it." 

"You're  running  too  much  to  philology,  Billy," 
said  Goodwin.  "  Do  you  make  out  the  meaning  of 
it?" 

"  Sure,"  replied  the  philosopher  of  Fortune.  "  All 
languages  come  easy  to  the  man  who  must  know  'em. 
I've  even  failed  to  misunderstand  an  order  to  evacuate 
in  classical  Chinese  when  it  was  backed  up  by  the 
muzzle  of  a  breech-loader.    This  little  literary  essay  I 


Fox-in-the- Morning  19 

hold  in  my  hands  means  a  game  of  Fox-in-the-Morn- 
ing.     Ever  play  that,  Frank,  when  you  was  a  kid  ?" 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Goodwin,  laughing.  "  You  join 
hands  all  'round,  and — " 

"You  do  not,"  interrupted  Keogh.  "You've  got 
a  fine  sporting  game  mixed  up  in  your  head  with  '  All 
Around  the  Rosebush.'  The  spirit  of  'Fox-in-the- 
Morning'  is  opposed  to  the  holding  of  hands.  I'll 
tell  you  how  it's  played.  This  president  man  and 
his  companion  in  play,  they  stand  up  over  in  San 
Mateo,  ready  for  the  run,  and  shout:  'Fox-in-the- 
Morning!'  Me  and  you,  standing  here,  we  say: 
'Goose  and  the  Gander!'  They  say:  'How  many 
miles  is  it  to  London  town  ? '  We  say:  *  Only  a  few, 
if  your  legs  are  long  enough.  How  many  comes  out  ?  ' 
They  say:  'More  than  you're  able  to  catch.'  And 
then  the  game  commences." 

"  I  catch  the  idea,"  said  Goodwin.  "  It  won't  do 
to  let  the  goose  and  gander  slip  through  our  fingers, 
Billy;  their  feathers  are  too  valuable.  Our  crowd 
is  prepared  and  able  to  step  into  the  shoes  of  the 
government  at  once;  but  with  the  treasury  empty 
we'd  stay  in  power  about  as  long  as  a  tenderfoot 


20  Cabbages  and  Kings 

would  stick  on  an  untamed  bronco.  We  must  play 
the  fox  on  every  foot  of  the  coast  to  prevent  their  get- 
ting out  of  the  country." 

"By  the  mule-back  schedule,"  said  Keogh,  "it's 
five  days  down  from  San  Mateo.  We've  got  plenty 
of  time  to  set  our  outposts.  There's  only  three  places 
on  the  coast  where  they  can  hope  to  sail  from  —  here 
and  Solitas  and  Alazan.  They're  the  only  points 
we'll  have  to  guard.  It's  as  easy  as  a  chess  problem 
—  fox  to  play,  and  mate  in  three  moves.  Oh,  goosey, 
goosey,  gander,  whither  do  you  wander  ?  By  the 
blessing  of  the  literary  telegraph  the  boodle  of  this 
benighted  fatherland  shall  be  preserved  to  the  honest 
political  party  that  is  seeking  to  overthrow  it." 

The  situation  had  been  justly  outlined  by  Keogh. 
The  down  trail  from  the  capital  was  at  all  times  a 
weary  road  to  travel.  A  jiggety-joggety  journey  it 
was;  ice-cold  and  hot,  wet  and  dry.  The  trail 
climbed  appalling  mountains,  wound  like  a  rotten 
string  about  the  brows  of  breathless  precipices, 
plunged  through  chilling  snow-fed  streams,  and  wrig- 
gled like  a  snake  through  sunless  forests  teeming  with 
menacing  insect  and  animal  life.     After  descending 


Fox-in-ihe- Morning  21 

to  the  foothills  it  turned  to  a  trident,  the  central  prong 
ending  at  Alazan.  Another  branched  off  to  Coralio ; 
the  third  penetrated  to  Solitas.  Between  the  sea  and 
the  foothills  stretched  the  five  miles  breadth  of  allu- 
vial coast.  Here  was  the  flora  of  the  tropics  in  its 
rankest  and  most  prodigal  growth.  Spaces  here  and 
there  had  been  wrested  from  the  jungle  and  planted 
with  bananas  and  cane  and  orange  groves.  The  rest 
was  a  riot  of  wild  vegetation,  the  home  of  monkeys, 
tapirs,  jaguars,  alligators  and  prodigious  reptiles  and 
insects.  Where  no  road  was  cut  a  serpent  could 
scarcely  make  its  way  through  the  tangle  of  vines 
and  creepers.  Across  the  treacherous  mangrove 
swamps  few  things  without  wings  could  safely  pass. 
,  Therefore  the  fugitives  could  hope  to  reach  the  coast 
only  by  one  of  the  routes  named. 

"  Keep  the  matter  quiet,  Billy,"  advised  Goodwin. 
"We  don't  want  the  Ins  to  know  that  the  president  is 
in  flight.  I  suppose  Bob's  information  is  something 
of  a  scoop  in  the  capital  as  yet.  Otherwise  he  would 
not  have  tried  to  make  his  message  a  confidential 
one;  and,  besides,  everybody  would  have  heard  the 
news.     I'm  going  around  now  to  see  Dr.  Za valla, 


22  Cabbages  and  Kings 

and  start  a  man  up  the  trail  to  cut  the  telegraph 

wire." 

As  Goodwin  rose,  Keogh  threw  his  hat  upon  the 
grass  by  the  door  and  expelled  a  tremendous  sigh. 

"What's  the  trouble,  61117?"  asked  Goodwin, 
pausing.  "That's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  you 
sigh." 

"  'Tis  the  last,"  said  Keogh.  "  With  that  sorrow- 
ful puff  of  wind  I  resign  myself  to  a  life  of  praise- 
worthy but  harassing  honesty.  What  are  tintypes, 
if  you  please,  to  the  opportunities  of  the  great  and 
hilarious  class  of  ganders  and  geese?  Not  that  I 
would  be  a  president,  Frank  —  and  the  boodle  he's 
got  is  too  big  for  me  to  handle  —  but  in  some  ways 
I  feel  my  conscience  hurting  me  for  addicting  myself 
to  photographing  a  nation  instead  of  running  away 
with  it.  Frank,  did  you  ever  see  the  *  bundle  of  mus- 
lin '  that  His  Excellency  has  wrapped  up  and  carried 
off?" 

"  Isabel  Guilbert  ?  "  said  Goodwin,  laughing.  "  No, 
I  never  did.  From  what  I've  heard  of  her,  though, 
I  imagine  that  she  wouldn't  stick  at  anything  to  carry 
her  point.     Don't  get  romantic,  Billy.     Sometimes 


Fox-in-the- Morning  23 

I  begin  to  fear  that  there's  Irish  blood  in  your  ances- 
try." 

"I  never  saw  her  either,"  went  on  Keogh;  "but 
they  say  she's  got  all  the  ladies  of  mythology,  sculp- 
ture, and  fiction  reduced  to  chromos.  They  say  she 
can  look  at  a  man  once,  and  he'll  turn  monkey  and 
climb  trees  to  pick  cocoanuts  for  her.  Think  of  that 
president  man  with  Lord  knows  how  many  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  dollars  in  one  hand,  and  this  muslin 
siren  in  the  other,  galloping  down  hill  on  a  sym- 
pathetic mule  amid  songbirds  and  flowers!  And 
here  is  Billy  Keogh,  because  he  is  virtuous,  con- 
demned to  the  unprofitable  swindle  of  slandering  the 
faces  of  missing  links  on  tin  for  an  honest  living !  'Tis 
an  injustice  of  nature." 

"Cheer  up,"  said  Goodwin.  "You  are  a  pretty 
poor  fox  to  be  envying  a  gander.  Maybe  the  en- 
chanting Guilbert  will  take  a  fancy  to  you  and  your 
tintypes  after  we  impoverish  her  royal  escort." 

"She  could  do  worse,"  reflected  Keogh;  "but  she 
won't.  'Tis  not  a  tintype  gallery,  but  the  gallery  of 
the  gods  that  she's  fitted  to  adorn  She's  a  very 
wicked  lady,  and  the  president  man  is  in  luck.     But 


24  Cabbages  and  Kings 

I  hear  Clancy  swearing  in  the  back  room  for  having 
to  do  all  the  work."  And  Keogh  plunged  for  the 
rear  of  the  "  gallery,"  whistling  gaily  in  a  spontaneous 
way  that  belied  his  recent  sigh  over  the  questionable 
good  luck  of  the  flying  president. 

Goodwin  turned  from  the  main  street  into  a  much 
narrower  one  that  intersected  it  at  a  right  angle. 

These  side  streets  were  covered  by  a  growth  of 
thick,  rank  grass,  which  was  kept  to  a  navigable 
shortness  by  the  machetes  of  the  police.  Stone  side- 
walks, little  more  than  a  ledge  in  width,  ran  along 
the  base  of  the  mean  and  monotonous  adobe  houses. 
At  the  outskirts  of  the  village  these  streets  dwindled 
to  nothing ;  and  here  were  set  the  palm-thatched  huts 
of  the  Caribs  and  the  poorer  natives,  and  the  shabby 
cabins  of  negroes  from  Jamaica  and  the  West  India 
islands.  A  few  structures  raised  their  heads  above 
the  red-tiled  roofs  of  the  one-story  houses  —  the  bell 
tower  of  the  Calaboza,  the  Hotel  de  los  Estranjeros, 
the  residence  of  the  Vesuvius  Fruit  Company's 
agent,  the  store  and  residence  of  Bernard  Brannigan, 
a  ruined  cathedral  in  which  Columbus  had  once  set 
foot,  and,  most  imposing  of  all,  the  Casa  Morena  — 


Fox-in-the- Morning  25 

the  summer  "  White  House  "  of  the  President  of  An- 
churia.  On  the  principal  street  running  along  the 
beach  —  the  Broadway  of  Coralio  —  were  the  larger 
stores,  the  government  bodega  and  post-office,  the 
cuartely  the  rum-shops  and  the  market  place. 

On  his  way  Goodwin  passed  the  house  of  Bernard 
Brannigan.  It  was  a  modern  wooden  building,  two 
stories  in  height.  The  ground  floor  was  occupied 
by  Brannigan's  store,  the  upper  one  contained  the 
living  apartments.  A  wide,  cool  porch  ran  around 
the  house  half  way  up  its  outer  walls.  A  handsome, 
vivacious  girl  neatly  dressed  in  flowing  white  leaned 
over  the  railing  and  smiled  down  upon  Goodwin. 
She  was  no  darker  than  many  an  Andalusian  of  high 
descent;  and  she  sparkled  and  glowed  like  a  tropical 
moonlight. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Paula,"  said  Goodwin, 
taking  off  his  hat,  with  his  ready  smile.  There  was 
little  difference  in  his  manner  whether  he  addressed 
women  or  men.  Everybody  in  Coralio  liked  to  re- 
ceive the  salutation  of  the  big  American. 

"  Is  there  any  news,  Mr.  Goodwin  ?  Please  don't 
say  no.     Isn't  it  warm  ?     I  feel  just  like  Mariana  in 


26  Cabbages  and  Kings 

her  moated  grange  —  or  was  it  a  range  ?  —  it's  hot 

enough." 

"  No,  there's  no  news  to  tell,  I  believe,"  said  Good- 
win, with  a  mischievous  look  in  his  eye,  "  except  that 
old  Geddie  is  getting  grumpier  and  crosser  every  day. 
If  something  doesn't  happen  to  relieve  his  mind  I'll 
have  to  quit  smoking  on  his  back  porch  —  and  there's 
no  other  place  available  that  is  cool  enough." 

"He  isn't  grumpy,"  said  Paula  Brannigan,  im- 
pulsively, "  when  he  — " 

But  she  ceased  suddenly,  and  drew  back  with  a 
deepening  colour;  for  her  mother  had  been  a  mestizo 
lady,  and  the  Spanish  blood  had  brought  to  Paula 
a  certain  shyness  that  was  an  adornment  to  the  other 
half  of  her  demonstrative  nature. 


CHAPTER   TWO 

The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle 


WlLLARD  GEDDIE,  consul  for  the  United 
States  in  Coralio,  was  working  leisurely  on  his  yearly 
report.  Goodwin,  who  had  strolled  in  as  he  did 
daily  for  a  smoke  on  the  much  coveted  porch,  had 
found  him  so  absorbed  in  his  work  that  he  departed 
after  roundly  abusing  the  consul  for  his  lack  of 
hospitality. 

"  I  shall  complain  to  the  civil  service  department,,, 
said  Goodwin ;  —  "or  is  it  a  department ?  —  per- 
haps it's  only  a  theory.  One  gets  neither  civility  nor 
service  from  you.  You  won't  talk;  and  you  won't 
set  out  anything  to  drink.  What  kind  of  a  way  is 
that  of  representing  your  government?" 

Goodwin  strolled  out  and  across  to  the  hotel  to  see 


28  Cabbages  and  Kings 

if  he  could  bully  the  quarantine  doctor  into  a  game 
on  Coralio's  solitary  billiard  table.  His  plans  were 
completed  for  the  interception  of  the  fugitives  from 
the  capital;  and  now  it  was  but  a  waiting  game  that 
he  had  to  play. 

The  consul  was  interested  in  his  report.  He  was 
only  twenty-four;  and  he  had  not  been  in  Coralio 
long  enough  for  his  enthusiasm  to  cool  in  the  heat 
of  the  tropics  —  a  paradox  that  may  be  allowed 
between  Cancer  and  Capricorn. 

So  many  thousand  bunches  of  bananas,  so  many 
thousand  oranges  and  cocoanuts,  so  many  ounces  of 
gold  dust,  pounds  of  rubber,  coffee,  indigo  and  sar- 
saparilla  —  actually,  exports  were  twenty  per  cent, 
greater  than  for  the  previous  year ! 

A  little  thrill  of  satisfaction  ran  through  the  consul. 
Perhaps,  he  thought,  the  State  Department,  upon 
reading  his  introduction,  would  notice  —  and  then 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed.  He  was 
getting  as  bad  as  the  others.  For  the  moment  he 
had  forgotten  that  Coralio  was  an  insignificant  town 
in  an  insignificant  republic  lying  along  the  by-ways 
of  a  second-rate  sea.     He  thought  of  Gregg,  the  quar- 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  29 

antine  doctor,  who  subscribed  for  the  London  Lancety 
expecting  to  find  it  quoting  his  reports  to-  the  home 
Board  of  Health  concerning  the  yellow  fever  germ. 
The  consul  knew  that  not  one  in  fifty  of  his  acquaint- 
ances in  the  States  had  ever  heard  of  Coralio.  He 
knew  that  two  men,  at  any  rate,  would  have  to  read 
his  report  —  some  underling  in  the  State  Department 
and  a  compositor  in  the  Public  Printing  Office.  Per- 
haps the  typesticker  would  note  the  increase  of  com- 
merce in  Coralio,  and  speak  of  it,  over  the  cheese  and 
beer,  to  a  friend. 

He  had  just  written:  "Most  unaccountable  is 
the  supineness  of  the  large  exporters  in  the  United 
States  in  permitting  the  French  and  German  houses 
to  practically  control  the  trade  interests  of  this  rich 
and  pro  luctive  country "  —  when  he  heard  the 
hoarse  notes  of  a  steamer's  siren. 

Geddie  laid  down  his  pen  and  gathered  his  Pan- 
ama hat  and  umbrella.  By  the  sound  he  knew  it  to 
be  the  Valhalla,  one  of  the  line  of  fruit  vessels  plying 
for  the  Vesuvius  Company.  Down  to  ninos  of  five 
years,  everyone  in  Coralio  could  name  you  each  in- 
coming steamer  by  the  note  of  her  siren. 


30  Cabbages  and  Kings 

The  consul  sauntered  by  a  roundabout,  shaded 
way  to  the  beach.  By  reason  of  long  practice  he 
gauged  his  stroll  so  accurately  that  by  the  time  he 
arrived  on  the  sandy  shore  the  boat  of  the  customs 
officials  was  rowing  back  from  the  steamer,  which 
had  been  boarded  and  inspected  according  to  the 
laws  of  Anchuria. 

There  is  no  harbour  at  Coralio.  Vessels  of  the 
draught  of  the  Valhalla  must  ride  at  anchor  a  mile 
from  shore.  When  they  take  on  fruit  it  is  conveyed 
on  lighters  and  freighter  sloops.  At  Solitas,  where 
there  was  a  fine  harbour,  ships  of  many  kinds  were 
to  be  seen,  but  in  the  roadstead  off  Coralio  scarcely 
any  save  the  fruiters  paused.  Now  and  then  a  tramp 
coaster,  or  a  mysterious  brig  from  Spain,  or  a  saucy 
French  barque  would  hang  innocently  for  a  few  days 
in  the  offing.  Then  the  custom-house  crew  would 
become  doubly  vigilant  and  wary.  At  night  a  sloop 
or  two  would  be  making  strange  trips  in  and  out 
along  the  shore;  and  in  the  morning  the  stock  of 
Three-Star  Hennessey,  wines  and  drygoods  in  Coralio 
would  be  found  vastly  increased.  It  has  also  been 
said  that  the  customs  officials  jingled  more  silver  in 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  31 

the  pockets  of  their  red-striped  trousers,  and  that  the 
record  books  showed  no  increase  in  import  duties 
received. 

The  customs  boat  and  the  Valhalla  gig  reached 
the  shore  at  the  same  time.  When  they  grounded 
in  the  shallow  water  there  was  still  five  yards  of  roll- 
ing surf  between  them  and  dry  sand.  Then  half- 
clothed  Caribs  dashed  into  the  water,  and  brought 
in  on  their  backs  the  Valhalla's  purser  and  the  little 
native  officials  in  their  cotton  undershirts,  blue  trou- 
sers with  red  stripes,  and  flapping  straw  hats. 

At  college  Geddie  had  been  a  treasure  as  a  first- 
baseman.  He  now  closed  his  umbrella,  stuck  it  up- 
right in  the  sand,  and  stooped,  with  his  hands  resting 
upon  his  knees.  The  purser,  burlesquing  the  pitch- 
er's contortions,  hurled  at  the  consul  the  heavy  roll 
of  newspapers,  tied  with  a  string,  that  the  steamer 
always  brought  for  him.  Geddie  leaped  high  and 
caught  the  roll  with  a  sounding  "thwack."  The 
loungers  on  the  beach  —  about  a  third  of  the  popula- 
tion of  the  town  —  laughed  and  applauded  delight- 
edly. Every  week  they  expected  to  see  that  roll  of 
papers  delivered  and  received  in  that  same  manner, 


32  Cabbages  and  Kings 

and  they  were  never  disappointed.     Innovations  did 

not  flourish  in  Coralio. 

The  consul  re-hoisted  his  umbrella,  and  walked 
back  to  the  consulate. 

This  home  of  a  great  nation's  representative  was  a 
wooden  structure  of  two  rooms,  with  a  native-built 
gallery  of  poles,  bamboo  and  nipa  palm  running  on 
three  sides  of  it.  One  room  was  the  official  apart- 
ment, furnished  chastely  with  a  flat-top  desk,  a  ham- 
mock, and  three  uncomfortable  cane-seated  chairs. 
Engravings  of  the  first  and  latest  president  of  the 
country  represented  hung  against  the  wall.  The 
other  room  was  the  consul's  living  apartment. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  he  returned  from  the 
beach,  and  therefore  breakfast  time.  Chanca,  the 
Carib  woman  who  cooked  for  him,  was  just  serving 
the  meal  on  the  side  of  the  gallery  facing  the  sea  — 
a  spot  famous  as  the  coolest  in  Coralio.  The  break- 
fast consisted  of  shark's  fin  soup,  stew  of  land  crabs, 
breadfruit,  a  broiled  iguana  steak,  aguacates,  a 
freshly  cut  pineapple,  claret  and  coffee. 

Geddie  took  his  seat,  and  unrolled  with  luxurious 
laziness  his  bundle  of  newspapers.     Here  in  Coralio 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  33 

for  two  days  or  longer  he  would  read  of  goings-on  in 
the  world  very  much  as  we  of  the  world  read  those 
whimsical  contributions  to  inexact  science  that  as- 
sume to  portray  the  doings  of  the  Martians.  After 
he  had  finished  with  the  papers  they  would  be  sent 
on  the  rounds  of  the  other  English-speaking  resi- 
dents of  the  town. 

The  paper  that  came  first  to  his  hand  was  one  of 
those  bulky  mattresses  of  printed  stuff  upon  which 
the  readers  of  certain  New  York  journals  are  sup- 
posed to  take  their  Sabbath  literary  nap.  Opening 
this  the  consul  rested  it  upon  the  table,  supporting  its 
weight  with  the  aid  of  the  back  of  a  chair.  Then  he 
partook  of  his  meal  deliberately,  turning  the  leaves 
from  time  to  time  and  glancing  half  idly  at  the  con- 
tents. 

Presently  he  was  struck  by  something  familiar  to 
him  in  a  picture  —  a  half -page,  badly  printed  repro- 
duction of  a  photograph  of  a  vessel.  Languidly  in- 
terested, he  leaned  for  a  nearer  scrutiny  and  a  view  of 
the  florid  headlines  of  the  column  next  to  the  picture. 

Yes;  he  was  not  mistaken.  The  engraving  was 
of  the  eight-hundred-ton  yacht  Idalia,  belonging  to 


34  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"that  prince  of  good  fellows,  Midas  of  the  money 

market,  and  society's  pink  of  perfection,  J.  Ward 

Tolliver." 

Slowly  sipping  his  black  coffee,  Geddie  read  the 
column  of  print.  Following  a  listed  statement  of 
Mr.  Tolliver's  real  estate  and  bonds,  came  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  yacht's  furnishings,  and  then  the  grain  of 
news  no  bigger  than  a  mustard  seed.  Mr.  Tolliver, 
with  a  party  of  favoured  guests,  would  sail  the  next 
day  on  a  six  weeks'  cruise  along  the  Central  American 
and  South  American  coasts  and  among  the  Bahama 
Islands.  Among  the  guests  were  Mrs.  Cumberland 
Payne  and  Miss  Ida  Payne,  of  Norfolk. 

The  writer,  with  the  fatuous  presumption  that  was 
demanded  of  him  by  his  readers,  had  concocted  a 
romance  suited  to  their  palates.  He  bracketed  the 
names  of  Miss  Payne  and  Mr.  Tolliver  until  he  had 
well-nigh  read  the  marriage  ceremony  over  them. 
He  played  coyly  and  insinuatingly  upon  the  strings 
of  "on  dit"  and  "Madame  Rumour"  and  "a  little 
bird  "  and  "  no  one  would  be  surprised,"  and  ended 
with  congratulations. 
1   Geddie,  having  finished  his  breakfast,  took  his  pa- 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  35 

pers  to  the  edge  of  the  gallery,  and  sat  there  in  his 
favourite  steamer  chair  with  his  feet  on  the  bamboo 
railing.  He  lighted  a  cigar,  and  looked  out  upon  the 
sea.  He  felt  a  glow  of  satisfaction  at  finding  he  was 
so  little  disturbed  by  what  he  had  read.  He  told 
himself  that  he  had  conquered  the  distress  that  had 
sent  him,  a  voluntary  exile,  to  this  far  land  of  the 
lotus.  He  could  never  forget  Ida,  of  course;  but 
there  was  no  longer  any  pain  in  thinking  about  her. 
When  they  had  had  that  misunderstanding  and  quar- 
rel he  had  impulsively  sought  this  consulship,  with 
the  desire  to  retaliate  upon  her  by  detaching  himself 
from  her  world  and  presence.  He  had  succeeded 
thoroughly  in  that.  During  the  twelve  months  of  his 
life  in  Coralio  no  word  had  passed  between  them, 
though  he  had  sometimes  heard  of  her  through  the 
dilatory  correspondence  with  the  few  friends  to 
whom  he  still  wrote.  Still  he  could  not  repress  a  lit- 
tle thrill  of  satisfaction  at  knowing  that  she  had  not 
yet  married  Tolliver  or  anyone  else.  But  evidently 
Tolliver  had  not  yet  abandoned  hope. 

Well,  it  made  no  difference  to  him  now.     He  had 
eaten  of  the  lotus.     He  was  happy  and  content  in 


36  Cabbages  and  Kings 

this  land  of  perpetual  afternoon.  Those  old  days  of 
life  in  the  States  seemed  like  an  irritating  dream. 
He  hoped  Ida  would  be  as  happy  as  he  was  The 
climate  as  balmy  as  that  of  distant  Avalon;  the 
fetterless,  idyllic  round  of  enchanted  days;  the  life 
among  this  indolent,  romantic  people  —  a  life  full  of 
music,  flowers,  and  low  laughter;  the  influence  of  the 
imminent  sea  and  mountains,  and  the  many  shapes 
of  love  and  magic  and  beauty  that  bloomed  in  the 
white  tropic  nights  —  with  all  he  was  more  than 
content.     Also,  there  was  Paula  Brannigan. 

Geddie  intended  to  marry  Paula  —  if,  of  course, 
she  would  consent;  but  he  felt  rather  sure  that  she 
would  do  that.  Somehow,  he  kept  postponing  his 
proposal.  Several  times  he  had  been  quite  near  to 
it;  but  a  mysterious  something  always  held  him  back. 
Perhaps  it  was  only  the  unconscious,  instinctive  con- 
viction that  the  act  would  sever  the  last  tie  that  bound 
him  to  his  old  world. 

He  could  be  very  happy  with  Paula.  Few  of  the 
native  girls  could  be  compared  with  her.  She  had 
attended  a  convent  school  in  New  Orleans  for  two 
years;  and  when  she  chose  to  display  her  accom- 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  37 

plishments  no  one  could  detect  any  difference  be- 
tween her  and  the  girls  of  Norfolk  and  Manhattan. 
But  it  was  delicious  to  see  her  at  home  dressed,  as 
she  sometimes  was,  in  the  native  costume,  with  bare 
shoulders  and  flowing  sleeves. 

Bernard  Brannigan  was  the  great  merchant  of 
Coralio.  Besides  his  store,  he  maintained  a  train  of 
pack  mules,  and  carried  on  a  lively  trade  with  the 
interior  towns  and  villages.  He  had  married  a  na- 
tive lady  of  high  Castilian  descent,  but  with  a  tinge 
of  Indian  brown  showing  through  her  olive  cheek. 
The  union  of  the  Irish  and  the  Spanish  had  produced, 
as  it  so  often  has,  an  offshoot  of  rare  beauty  and  vari- 
ety. They  were  very  excellent  people  indeed,  and 
the  upper  story  of  their  house  was  ready  to  be  placed 
at  the  service  of  Geddie  and  Paula  as  soon  as  he 
should  make  up  his  mind  to  speak  about  it. 

By  the  time  two  hours  were  whiled  away  the  consul 
tired  of  reading.  The  papers  lay  scattered  about 
him  on  the  gallery.  Reclining  there,  he  gazed  dream- 
ily out  upon  an  Eden.  A  clump  of  banana  plants 
interposed  their  broad  shields  between  him  and  the 
sun.     The  gentle  slope  from  the  consulate  to  the  sea 


38  Cabbages  and  Kings 

was  covered  with  the  dark-green  foliage  of  lemon- 
trees  and  orange-trees  just  bursting  into  bloom.  A 
lagoon  pierced  the  land  like  a  dark,  jagged  crystal, 
and  above  it  a  pale  ceiba-tree  rose  almost  to  the 
clouds.  The  waving  cocoanut  palms  on  the  beach 
flared  their  decorative  green  leaves  against  the  slate 
of  an  almost  quiescent  sea.  His  senses  were  cognizant 
of  brilliant  scarlets  and  ochres  amid  the  vert  of  the 
coppice,  of  odours  of  fruit  and  bloom  and  the  smoke 
from  Chanca's  clay  oven  under  the  calabash-tree; 
of  the  treble  laughter  of  the  native  women  in  their 
huts,  the  song  of  the  robin,  the  salt  taste  of  the  breeze, 
the  diminuendo  of  the  faint  surf  running  along  the 
shore  —  and,  gradually,  of  a  white  speck,  growing  to 
a  blur,  that  intruded  itself  upon  the  drab  prospect  of 
the  sea. 

Lazily  interested,  he  watched  this  blur  increase 
until  it  became  the  Idalia  steaming  at  full  speed, 
coming  down  the  coast.  Without  changing  his  posi- 
tion he  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  beautiful  white  yacht 
as  she  drew  Swiftly  near,  and  came  opposite  to  Co- 
ralio.  Then,  sitting  upright,  he  saw  her  float  stead- 
ily past  and  on.     Scarcely  a  mile  of  sea  had  separated 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  39 

her  from  the  shore.  He  had  seen  the  frequent  flash  of 
her  polished  brass  work  and  the  stripes  of  her  deck- 
awnings  —  so  much,  and  no  more.  Like  a  ship  on 
a  magic  lantern  slide  the  Idalia  had  crossed  the  illu- 
minated circle  of  the  consul's  little  world,  and  was 
gone.  Save  for  the  tiny  cloud  of  smoke  that  was  left 
hanging  over  the  brim  of  the  sea,  she  might  have 
been  an  immaterial  thing,  a  chimera  of  his  idle  brain. 

Geddie  went  into  his  office  and  sat  down  to  dawdle 
over  his  report.  If  the  reading  of  the  article  in  the 
paper  had  left  him  unshaken,  this  silent  passing  of 
the  Idalia  had  done  for  him  still  more.  It  had 
brought  the  calm  and  peace  of  a  situation  from  which 
all  uncertainty  had  been  erased.  He  knew  that  men 
sometimes  hope  without  being  aware  of  it.  Now, 
since  she  had  come  two  thousand  miles  and  had 
passed  without  a  sign,  not  even  his  unconscious  self 
need  cling  to  the  past  any  longer. 

After  dinner,  when  the  sun  was  low  behind  the 
mountains,  Geddie  walked  on  the  little  strip  of  beach 
under  the  cocoanuts.  The  wind  was  blowing  mildly 
landward,  and  the  surface  of  the  sea  was  rippled  by 
tiny  wavelets. 


40  Cabbages  and  Kings 

A  miniature  breaker,  spreading  with  a  soft  "swish  " 
upon  the  sand  brought  with  it  something  round  and 
shiny  that  rolled  back  again  as  the  wave  receded. 
The  next  influx  beached  it  clear,  and  Geddie  picked 
it  up.  The  thing  was  a  long-necked  wine  bottle  of 
colourless  glass.  The  cork  had  been  driven  in  tight- 
ly to  the  level  of  the  mouth,  and  the  end  covered  with 
dark-red  sealing-wax.  The  bottle  contained  only 
what  seemed  to  be  a  sheet  of  paper,  much  curled 
from  the  manipulation  it  had  undergone  while  being 
inserted.  In  the  sealing-wax  was  the  impression  of 
a  seal  —  probably  of  a  signet-ring,  bearing  the  initials 
of  a  monogram ;  but  the  impression  had  been  hastily 
made,  and  the  letters  were  past  anything  more  cer- 
tain than  a  shrewd  conjecture.  Ida  Payne  had 
always  worn  a  signet-ring  in  preference  to  any 
other  finger  decoration.  Geddie  thought  he  could 
make  out  the  familiar  "I  P";  and  a  queer  sen- 
sation of  disquietude  went  over  him.  More  person- 
al and  intimate  was  this  reminder  of  her  than  had 
been  the  sight  of  the  vessel  she  was  doubtless  on. 
He  walked  back  to  his  house,  and  set  the  bottle  on 
his  desk. 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  41 

Throwing  off  his  hat  and  coat,  and  lighting  a  lamp 
—  for  the  night  had  crowded  precipitately  upon  the 
brief  twilight  —  he  began  to  examine  his  piece  of  sea 
salvage. 

By  holding  the  bottle  near  the  light  and  turning  it 
judiciously,  he  made  out  that  it  contained  a  double 
sheet  of  note-paper  filled  with  close  writing ;  further, 
that  the  paper  was  of  the  same  size  and  shade  as  that 
always  used  by  Ida;  and  that,  to  the  best  of  his  be- 
lief, the  handwriting  was  hers.  The  imperfect  glass 
of  the  bottle  so  distorted  the  rays  of  light  that  he  could 
read  no  word  of  the  writing;  but  certain  capital  let- 
ters, of  which  he  caught  comprehensive  glimpses,  were 
Ida's,  he  felt  sure. 

There  was  a  little  smile  both  of  perplexity  and 
amusement  in  Geddie's  eyes  as  he  set  the  bottle  down, 
and  laid  three  cigars  side  by  side  on  his  desk.  He 
fetched  his  steamer  chair  from  the  gallery,  and 
stretched  himself  comfortably.  He  would  smoke 
those  three  cigars  while  considering  the  problem. 

For  it  amounted  to  a  problem.  He  almost  wished 
that  he  had  not  found  the  bottle;  but  the  bottle  was 
there.     Why  should  it  have  drifted  in  from  the  sea, 


4£  Cabbages  and  Kings 

whence  come  so  many  disquieting  things,  to  disturb 
his  peace  ? 

In  this  dreamy  land,  where  time  seemed  so  redund- 
ant, he  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  bestowing  much 
thought  upon  even  trifling  matters. 

He  began  to  speculate  upon  many  fanciful  theo- 
ries concerning  the  story  of  the  bottle,  rejecting  each 
in  turn. 

Ships  in  danger  of  wreck  or  disablement  some- 
times cast  forth  such  precarious  messengers  calling 
for  aid.  But  he  had  seen  the  Idalia  not  three  hours 
before,  safe  and  speeding.  Suppose  the  crew  had 
mutinied  and  imprisoned  the  passengers  below,  and 
the  message  was  one  begging  for  succour!  But, 
premising  such  an  improbable  outrage,  would  the 
agitated  captives  have  taken  the  pains  to  fill  four 
pages  of  note-paper  with  carefully  penned  arguments 
to  their  rescue. 

Thus  by  elimination  he  soon  rid  the  matter  of  the 
more  unlikely  theories,  and  was  reduced  —  though 
aversely  —  to  the  less  assailable  one  that  the  bottle 
contained  a  message  to  himself.  Ida  knew  he  was 
in  Coralio;  she  must  have  launched  the  bottle  while 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  43 

the  yacht  was  passing  and  the  wind  blowing  fairly 
toward  the  shore. 

As  soon  as  Geddie  reached  this  conclusion  a  wrin- 
kle came  between  his  brows  and  a  stubborn  look  set- 
tled around  his  mouth.  He  sat  looking  out  through 
the  doorway  at  the  gigantic  fire-flies  traversing  the 
quiet  streets. 

If  this  was  a  message  to  him  from  Ida,  what  could 
it  mean  save  an  overture  toward  a  reconciliation? 
And  if  that,  why  had  she  not  used  the  same  methods 
of  the  post  instead  of  this  uncertain  and  even  flippant 
means  of  communication  ?  A  note  in  an  empty  bot- 
tle, cast  into  the  sea !  There  was  something  light  and 
frivolous  about  it,  if  not  actually  contemptuous. 

The  thought  stirred  his  pride  and  subdued  what- 
ever emotions  had  been  resurrected  by  the  finding  of 
the  bottle. 

Geddie  put  on  his  coat  and  hat  and  walked  out.  He 
followed  a  street  that  led  him  along  the  border  of  the 
little  plaza  where  a  band  was  playing  and  people  were 
rambling,  care-free  and  indolent.  Some  timorous 
senoritas  scurrying  past  with  fire-flies  tangled  in  the 
jetty  braids  of  their  hair  glanced  at  him  with  shy,  flat- 


44  Cabbages  and  Kings 

tering  eyes.     The  air  was  languorous  with  the  scent  of 

jasmin  and  orange-blossoms. 

The  consul  stayed  his  steps  at  the  house  of  Bernard 
Brannigan.  Paula  was  swinging  in  a  hammock  on 
the  gallery.  She  rose  from  it  like  a  bird  from  its  nest. 
The  colour  came  to  her  cheek  at  the  sound  of  Ged- 
die's  voice. 

He  was  charmed  at  the  sight  of  her  costume  —  a 
flounced  muslin  dress,  with  a  little  jacket  of  white 
flannel,  all  made  with  neatness  and  style.  He  sug- 
gested a  stroll,  and  they  walked  out  to  the  old  Indian 
well  on  the  hill  road.  They  sat  on  the  curb,  and 
there  Geddie  made  the  expected  but  long-deferred 
speech.  Certain  though  he  had  been  that  she  would 
not  say  him  nay,  he  was  thrilled  with  joy  at  the  com- 
pleteness and  sweetness  of  her  surrender.  Here  was 
surely  a  heart  made  for  love  and  steadfastness.  Here 
was  no  caprice  or  questionings  or  captious  stand- 
ards of  convention. 

When  Geddie  kissed  Paula  at  her  door  that  night 
he  was  happier  than  he  had  ever  been  before.  "  Here 
in  this  hollow  lotus  land,  ever  to  live  and  lie  reclined" 
seemed  to  him,  as  it  has  seemed  to  many  mariners,  the 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  45 

best  as  well  as  the  easiest.  His  future  would  be  an 
ideal  one.  He  had  attained  a  Paradise  without  a  ser- 
pent. His  Eve  would  be  indeed  a  part  of  him,  unbe- 
guiled,  and  therefore  more  beguiling.  He  had  made 
his  decision  to-night,  and  his  heart  was  full  of  serene, 
assured  content. 

Geddie  went  back  to  his  house  whistling  that  finest 
and  saddest  love  song,  "  La  Golondrina. "  At  the 
door  his  tame  monkey  leaped  down  from  his  shelf, 
chattering  briskly.  The  consul  turned  to  his  desk  to 
get  him  some  nuts  he  usually  kept  there.  Reaching 
in  the  half -darkness,  his  hand  struck  against  the  bot- 
tle. He  started  as  if  he  had  touched  the  cold  rotund- 
ity of  a  serpent. 

He  had  forgotten  that  the  bottle  was  there. 

He  lighted  the  lamp  and  fed  the  monkey.  Then, 
very  deliberately,  he  lighted  a  cigar,  and  took  the  bottle 
in  his  hand,  and  walked  down  the  path  to  the  beach. 

There  was  a  moon,  and  the  sea  was  glorious.  The 
breeze  had  shifted,  as  it  did  each  evening,  and  was 
now  rushing  steadily  seaward. 

Stepping  to  the  water's  edge,  Geddie  hurled  the  un- 
opened bottle  far  out  into  the  sea.     It  disappeared  for 


46  Cabbages  and  Kings 

a  moment,  and  then  shot  upward  twice  its  length. 
Geddie  stood  still,  watching  it.  The  moonlight  was 
so  bright  that  he  could  see  it  bobbing  up  and  down 
with  the  little  waves.  Slowly  it  receded  from  the 
shore,  flashing  and  turning  as  it  went.  The  wind  was 
carrying  it  out  to  sea.  Soon  it  became  a  mere  speck, 
doubtfully  discerned  at  irregular  intervals ;  and  then 
the  mystery  of  it  was  swallowed  up  by  the  greater 
mystery  of  the  ocean.  Geddie  stood  still  upon  the 
beach,  smoking  and  looking  out  upon  the  water. 

"  Simon !  —  Oh,  Simon !  —  wake  up  there,  Simon ! " 
bawled  a  sonorous  voice  at  the  edge  of  the  water. 

Old  Simon  Cruz  was  a  half-breed  fisherman  and 
smuggler  who  lived  in  a  hut  on  the  beach.  Out  of 
his  earliest  nap  Simon  was  thus  awakened. 

He  slipped  on  his  shoes  and  went  outside.  Just 
landing  from  one  of  the  Valhalla's  boats  was  the  third 
mate  of  that  vessel,  who  was  an  acquaintance  of  Si- 
mon's, and  three  sailors  from  the  fruiter. 

"  Go  up,  Simon, "  called  the  mate,  "  and  find  Dr. 
Gregg  or  Mr.  Goodwin  or  anybody  that's  a  friend  to 
Mr.  Geddie,  and  bring  'em  here  at  once. " 


The  Lotus  and  the  Bottle  47 

"  Saints  of  the  skies ! "  said  Simon,  sleepily,  "  noth- 
ing has  happened  to  Mr.  Geddie  ? " 

"  He's  under  that  tarpauling, "  said  the  mate,  point- 
ing to  the  boat,  "and  he's  rather  more  than  half 
drownded.  We  seen  him  from  the  steamer  nearly  a 
mile  out  from  shore,  swimmin'  like  mad  after  a  bottle 
that  was  floatin'  in  the  water,  outward  bound.  We 
lowered  the  gig  and  started  for  him.  He  nearly  had 
his  hand  on  the  bottle,  when  he  gave  out  and  went 
under.  We  pulled  him  out  in  time  to  save  him, 
maybe;  but  the  doctor  is  the  one  to  decide  that. " 

"A  bottle?"  said  the  old  man,  rubbing  his  eyes. 
He  was  not  yet  fully  awake.     "  Where  is  the  bottle  ?" 

"  Driftin'  along  out  there  some'eres,"  said  the  mate, 
jerking  his  thumb  toward  the  sea.  "  Get  on  with  you, 
Simon." 


CHAPTER   THREE 

Smith 

IjrOODWIN  and  the  ardent  patriot,  Za valla,  took 
all  the  precautions  that  their  foresight  could  contrive 
to  prevent  the  escape  of  President  Miraflores  and  his 
companion.  They  sent  trusted  messengers  up  the 
coast  to  Solitas  and  Alazan  to  warn  the  local  leaders 
of  the  flight,  and  to  instruct  them  to  patrol  the  water 
line  and  arrest  the  fugitives  at  all  hazards  should 
they  reveal  themselves  in  that  territory.  After  this 
was  done  there  remained  only  to  cover  the  district 
about  Coralio  and  await  the  coming  of  the  quarry. 
The  nets  were  well  spread.  The  roads  were  so  few, 
the  opportunities  for  embarkation  so  limited,  and  the 
two  or  three  probable  points  of  exit  so  well  guarded 
that  it  would  be  strange  indeed  if  there  should  slip 


Smith  49 

through  the  meshes  so  much  of  the  country's  dignity, 
romance,  and  collateral.  The  president  would,  with- 
out doubt,  move  as  secretly  as  possible,  and  en- 
deavour to  board  a  vessel  by  stealth  from  some 
secluded  point  along  the  shore. 

On  the  fourth  day  after  the  receipt  of  Englehart's 
telegram  the  Karlsefin,  a  Norwegian  steamer  char- 
tered by  the  New  Orleans  fruit  trade,  anchored  off 
Coralio  with  three  hoarse  toots  of  her  siren.  The 
Karlsefin  was  not  one  of  the  line  operated  by  the 
Vesuvius  Fruit  Company.  She  was  something  of  a 
dilettante,  doing  odd  jobs  for  a  company  that  was 
scarcely  important  enough  to  figure  as  a  rival  to  the 
Vesuvius.  The  movements  of  the  Karlsefin  were 
dependent  upon  the  state  of  the  market.  Sometimes 
she  would  ply  steadily  between  the  Spanish  Main 
and  New  Orleans  in  the  regular  transport  of  fruit; 
next  she  would  be  making  erratic  trips  to  Mobile 
or  Charleston,  or  even  as  far  north  as  New  York, 
according  to  the  distribution  of  the  fruit  supply. 

Goodwin  lounged  upon  the  beach  with  the  usual 
crowd  of  idlers  that  had  gathered  to  view  the  steamer. 
Now  that  President  Miraflores  might  be  expected  to 


50  Cabbages  and  Kings 

reach  the  borders  of  his  abjured  country  at  any  time, 
the  orders  were  to  keep  a  strict  and  unrelenting  watch. 
Every  vessel  that  approached  the  shores  might  now  be 
considered  a  possible  means  of  escape  for  the  fugi- 
tives; and  an  eye  was  kept  even  on  the  sloops  and 
dories  that  belonged  to  the  sea-going  contingent  of 
Coralio.  Goodwin  and  Zavalla  moved  everywhere, 
but  without  ostentation,  watching  the  loopholes  of 
escape. 

The  customs  officials  crowded  importantly  into 
their  boat  and  rowed  out  to  the  Karlsefin.  A  boat 
from  the  steamer  landed  her  purser  with  his  papers, 
and  took  out  the  quarantine  doctor  with  his  green 
umbrella  and  clinical  thermometer.  Next  a  swarm 
of  Caribs  began  to  load  upon  lighters  the  thousands 
of  bunches  of  bananas  heaped  upon  the  shore  and 
row  them  out  to  the  steamer.  The  Karlsefin  had  no 
passenger  list,  and  was  soon  done  with  the  attention 
of  the  authorities.  The  purser  declared  that  the 
steamer  would  remain  at  anchor  until  morning,  tak- 
ing on  her  fruit  during  the  night.  The  Karlsefin  had 
come,  he  said,  from  New  York,  to  which  port  her 
latest  load  of  oranges  and  cocoanuts  had  been  con- 


Smith  51 

veyed.  Two  or  three  of  the  freighter  sloops  were 
engaged  to  assist  in  the  work,  for  the  captain  was 
anxious  to  make  a  quick  return  in  order  to  reap  the 
advantage  offered  by  a  certain  dearth  of  fruit  in  the 
States. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  another  of 
those  marine  monsters,  not  very  familiar  in  those 
waters,  hove  in  sight,  following  the  fateful  Idalia  —  a 
graceful  steam  yacht,  painted  a  light  buff,  clean-cut 
as  a  steel  engraving.  The  beautiful  vessel  hovered 
off  shore,  see-sawing  the  waves  as  lightly  as  a  duck 
in  a  rain  barrel.  A  swift  boat  manned  by  a  crew 
in  uniform  came  ashore,  and  a  stocky-built  man 
leaped  to  the  sands. 

The  new-comer  seemed  to  turn  a  disapproving 
eye  upon  the  rather  motley  congregation  of  native 
Anchurians,  and  made  his  way  at  once  toward  Good- 
win, who  was  the  most  conspicuously  Anglo-Saxon 
figure  present.     Goodwin  greeted  him  with  courtesy. 

Conversation  developed  that  the  newly  landed  one 
was  named  Smith,  and  that  he  had  come  in  a  yacht. 
A  meagre  biography,  truly;  for  the  yacht  was  most 
apparent;  and  the  "Smith"  not  beyond  a  reasonable 


52  Cabbages  and  Kings 

guess  before  the  revelation.  Yet  to  the  eye  of  Good- 
win, who  had  seen  several  things,  there  was  a  dis- 
crepancy between  Smith  and  his  yacht.  A  bullet- 
headed  man  Smith  was,  with  an  oblique,  dead  eye 
and  the  moustache  of  a  cocktail-mixer.  And  unless 
he  had  shifted  costumes  before  putting  off  for  shore 
he  had  affronted  the  deck  of  his  correct  vessel  clad 
in  a  pearl-gray  derby,  a  gay  plaid  suit  and  vaudeville 
neckwear.  Men  owning  pleasure  yachts  generally 
harmonize  better  with  them. 

Smith  looked  business,  but  he  was  no  advertiser. 
He  commented  upon  the  scenery,  remarking  upon  its 
fidelity  to  the  pictures  in  the  geography;  and  then  in- 
quired for  the  United  States  consul.  Goodwin 
pointed  out  the  starred-and-striped  bunting  hanging 
above  the  little  consulate,  which  was  concealed  be- 
hind the  orange-trees. 

"  Mr.  Geddie,  the  consul,  will  be  sure  to  be  there," 
said  Goodwin.  "  He  was  very  nearly  drowned  a  few 
days  ago  while  taking  a  swim  in  the  sea,  and  the 
doctor  has  ordered  him  to  remain  indoors  for  some 
time." 

Smith  plowed  his  way  through  the  sand  to  the  con- 


Smith  53 

sulate,  his  haberdashery  creating  violent  discord 
against  the  smooth  tropical  blues  and  greens. 

Geddie  was  lounging  in  his  hammock,  somewhat 
pale  of  face  and  languid  in  pose.  On  that  night 
when  the  Valhalla  s  boat  had  brought  him  ashore 
apparently  drenched  to  death  by  the  sea,  Doctor 
Gregg  and  his  other  friends  had  toiled  for  hours  to 
preserve  the  little  spark  of  life  that  remained  to  him. 
The  bottle,  with  its  impotent  message,  was  gone  out 
to  sea,  and  the  problem  that  it  had  provoked  was 
reduced  to  a  simple  sum  in  addition  —  one  and  one 
make  two,  by  the  rule  of  arithmetic;  one  by  the 
rule  of  romance. 

There  is  a  quaint  old  theory  that  man  may  have 
two  souls  —  a  peripheral  one  which  serves  ordinarily, 
and  a  central  one  which  is  stirred  only  at  certain 
times,  but  then  with  activity  and  vigour.  While  under 
the  domination  of  the  former  a  man  will  shave,  vote, 
pay  taxes,  give  money  to  his  family,  buy  subscription 
books  and  comport  himself  on  the  average  plan.  But 
let  the  central  soul  suddenly  become  dominant,  and 
he  may,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  turn  upon  the  part- 
ner of  his  joys  with  furious  execration ;  he  may  change 


54  Cabbages  and  Kings 

his  politics  while  you  could  snap  your  fingers;  he 
may  deal  out  deadly  insult  to  his  dearest  friend;  he 
may  get  him,  instanter,  to  a  monastery  or  a  dance 
hall;  he  may  elope,  or  hang  himself  —  or  he  may 
write  a  song  or  poem,  or  kiss  his  wife  unasked,  or  give 
his  funds  to  the  search  of  a  microbe.  Then  the  pe- 
ripheral soul  will  return ;  and  we  have  our  safe,  sane 
citizen  again.  It  is  but  the  revolt  of  the  Ego  against 
Order;  and  its  effect  is  to  shake  up  the  atoms  only 
that  they  may  settle  where  they  belong. 

Geddie's  revulsion  had  been  a  mild  one  —  no 
more  than  a  swim  in  a  summer  sea  after  so  inglorious 
an  object  as  a  drifting  bottle.  And  now  he  was  him- 
self again.  Upon  his  desk,  ready  for  the  post,  was  a 
letter  to  his  government  tendering  his  resignation  as 
consul,  to  be  effective  as  soon  as  another  could  be 
appointed  in  his  place.  For  Bernard  Bran- 
nigan,  who  never  did  things  in  a  half-way  man- 
ner, was  to  take  Geddie  at  once  for  a  partner  in 
his  very  profitable  and  various  enterprises;  and 
Paula  was  happily  engaged  in  plans  for  refurnish- 
ing and  decorating  the  upper  story  of  the  Brannigan 
house. 


Smith  55 

The  consul  rose  from  his  hammock  when  he  saw 
the  conspicuous  stranger  in  his  door. 

"Keep  your  seat  old  man,"  said  the  visitor,  with 
an  airy  wave  of  his  large  hand.  "  My  name's  Smith ; 
and  I've  come  in  a  yacht.  You  are  the  consul  —  is 
that  right?  A  big,  cool  guy  on  the  beach  directed 
me  here.     Thought  I'd  pay  my  respects  to  the  flag." 

"Sit  down,"  said  Geddie.  "I've  been  admiring 
your  craft  ever  since  it  came  in  sight.  Looks  like  a 
fast  sailer.     What's  her  tonnage  ?  " 

"Search  me!"  said  Smith.  "I  don't  know  what 
she  weighs  in  at.  But  she's  got  a  tidy  gait.  The 
Rambler  —  that's  her  name  —  don't  take  the  dust 
of  anything  afloat.  This  is  my  first  trip  on  her. 
I'm  taking  a  squint  along  this  coast  just  to  get 
an  idea  of  the  countries  where  the  rubber  and  red 
pepper  and  revolutions  come  from.  I  had  no 
idea  there  was  so  much  scenery  down  here.  Why, 
Central  Park  ain't  in  it  with  this  neck  of  the 
woods.  I'm  from  New  York.  They  get  monkeys, 
and  cocoanuts,  and  parrots  down  here  —  is  that 
right?" 

"We  have  them  all,"  said  Geddie.     "I'm  quite 


56  Cabbages  and  Kings 

sure  that  our  fauna  and  flora  would  take  a  prize  over 

Central  Park." 

"  Maybe  they  would,"  admitted  Smith,  cheerfully. 
"I  haven't  seen  them  yet.  But  I  guess  you've  got 
us  skinned  on  the  animal  and  vegetation  question. 
You  don't  have  much  travel  here,  do  you  ?  " 

"Travel?"  queried  the  consul.  "I  suppose  you 
mean  passengers  on  the  steamers.  No;  very  few 
people  land  in  Coralio.  An  investor  now  and  then  — 
tourists  and  sight-seers  generally  go  further  down  the 
coast  to  one  of  the  larger  towns  where  there  is  a  har- 
bour. " 

"  I  see  a  ship  out  there  loading  up  with  bananas," 
said  Smith.     "  Any  passengers  come  on  her  ?  " 

"That's  the  Karlsefin"  said  the  consul.  "She's 
a  tramp  fruiter  —  made  her  last  trip  to  New  York, 
I  believe.  No;  she  brought  no  passengers.  I  saw 
her  boat  come  ashore,  and  there  was  no  one.  About 
the  only  exciting  recreation  we  have  here  is  watching 
steamers  when  they  arrive;  and  a  passenger  on  one  of 
them  generally  causes  the  whole  town  to  turn  out. 
If  you  are  going  to  remain  in  Coralio  a  while,  Mr. 
Smith,  I'll  be  glad  to  take  you  around  to  meet  some 


Smith  57 

people.  There  are  four  or  five  American  chaps  that 
are  good  to  know,  besides  the  native  high-fliers." 

"Thanks,"  said  the  yachtsman,  "but  I  wouldn't 
put  you  to  the  trouble.  I'd  like  to  meet  the  guys  you 
speak  of,  but  I  won't  be  here  long  enough  to  do  much 
knocking  around.  That  cool  gent  on  the  beach 
spoke  of  a  doctor;  can  you  tell  me  where  I  could  find 
him?  The  Rambler  ain't  quite  as  steady  on  her 
feet  as  a  Broadway  hotel;  and  a  fellow  gets  a  touch 
of  seasickness  now  and  then.  Thought  I'd  strike 
the  croaker  for  a  handful  of  the  little  sugar  pills,  in 
case  I  need  'em." 

"You  will  be  apt  to  find  Dr.  Gregg  at  the  hotel," 
said  the  consul.  "  You  can  see  it  from  the  door  — 
it's  that  two-story  building  with  the  balcony,  where 
the  orange-trees  are." 

The  Hotel  de  los  Estranjeros  was  a  dreary  hostelry, 
in  great  disuse  both  by  strangers  and  friends.  It 
stood  at  a  corner  of  the  Street  of  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre. A  grove  of  small  orange-trees  crowded  against 
one  side  of  it,  enclosed  by  a  low,  rock  wall  over  which 
a  tall  man  might  easily  step.  The  house  was  of 
plastered  adobe,  stained  a  hundred  shades  of  colour 


58  Cabbages  and  Kings 

by  the  salt  breeze  and  the  sun.  Upon  its  upper  bal- 
cony opened  a  central  door  and  two  windows  con- 
taining broad  jalousies  instead  of  sashes. 

The  lower  floor  communicated  by  two  doorways 
with  the  narrow,  rock-paved  sidewalk.  The  jml- 
peria  —  or  drinking  shop  —  of  the  proprietress,  Ma- 
dama  Timotea  Ortiz,  occupied  the  ground  floor.  On 
the  bottles  of  brandy,  anisada,  Scotch  "  smoke  "  and 
inexpensive  wines  behind  the  little  counter  the  dust 
lay  thick  save  where  the  fingers  of  infrequent  cus- 
tomers had  left  irregular  prints.  The  upper  story 
contained  four  or  five  guest-rooms  which  were  rarely 
put  to  their  destined  use.  Sometimes  a  fruit-grower, 
riding  in  from  his  plantation  to  confer  with  his  agent, 
would  pass  a  melancholy  night  in  the  dismal  upper 
story;  sometimes  a  minor  native  official  on  some 
trifling  government  quest  would  have  his  pomp  and 
majesty  awed  by  Madama's  sepulchral  hospitality. 
But  Madama  sat  behind  her  bar  content,  not  desir- 
ing to  quarrel  with  Fate.  If  anyone  required  meat, 
drink  or  lodging  at  the  Hotel  de  los  Estranjeros  they 
had  but  to  come,  and  be  served.  Estd  bueno.  If 
they  came  not,  why,  then,  they  came  not.   Estd  bueno. 


Smith  59 

As  the  exceptional  yachtsman  was  making  his  way 
down  the  precarious  sidewalk  of  the  Street  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  the  solitary  permanent  guest  of  that  decay- 
ing hotel  sat  at  its  door,  enjoying  the  breeze  from  the 
sea. 

Dr.  Gregg,  the  quarantine  physician,  was  a  man 
of  fifty  or  sixty,  with  a  florid  face  and  the  longest 
beard  between  Topeka  and  Terra  del  Fuego.  He 
held  his  position  by  virtue  of  an  appointment  by  the 
Board  of  Health  of  a  seaport  city  in  one  of  the  South- 
ern states.  That  city  feared  the  ancient  enemy  of 
every  Southern  seaport  —  the  yellow  fever  —  and  it 
was  the  duty  of  Dr.  Gregg  to  examine  crew  and  pas- 
sengers of  every  vessel  leaving  Coralio  for  prelim- 
inary symptoms.  The  duties  were  light,  and  the 
salary,  for  one  who  lived  in  Coralio,  ample.  Surplus 
time  there  was  in  plenty;  and  the  good  doctor  added 
to  his  gains  by  a  large  private  practice  among  the 
residents  of  the  coast.  The  fact  that  he  did  not 
know  ten  words  of  Spanish  was  no  obstacle ;  a  pulse 
could  be  felt  and  a  fee  collected  without  one  being 
a  linguist.  Add  to  the  description  the  facts  that  the 
doctor  had  a  story  to  tell  concerning  the  operation 


60  Cabbages  and  Kings 

of  trepanning  which  no  listener  had  ever  allowed  him 
to  conclude,  and  that  he  believed  in  brandy  as  a  pro- 
phylactic; and  the  special  points  of  interest  possessed 
by  Dr.  Gregg  will  have  become  exhausted. 

The  doctor  had  dragged  a  chair  to  the  sidewalk. 
He  was  coatless,  and  he  leaned  back  against  the  wall 
and  smoked,  while  he  stroked  his  beard.  Surprise 
came  into  his  pale  blue  eyes  when  he  caught  sight 
of  Smith  in  his  unusual  and  prismatic  clothes. 

"  You're  Dr.  Gregg  —  is  that  right  ?  "  said  Smith, 
feeling  the  dog's  head  pin  in  his  tie.  "  The  constable 
—  I  mean  the  consul,  told  me  you  hung  out  at  this 
caravansary.  My  name's  Smith;  and  I  came  in  a 
yacht.  Taking  a  cruise  around,  looking  at  the  mon- 
keys and  pineapple-trees.  Come  inside  and  have  a 
drink,  Doc.  This  cafe  looks  on  the  blink,  but  J 
guess  it  can  set  out  something  wet." 

"I  will  join  you,  sir,  in  just  a  taste  of  brandy," 
said  Dr.  Gregg,  rising  quickly.  "I  find  that  as  a 
prophylactic  a  little  brandy  is  almost  a  necessity  in 
this  climate." 

As  they  turned  to  enter  the  pulperia  a  native  man, 
barefoot,  glided  noiselessly  up  and  addressed  the 


Smith  61 

doctor  in  Spanish.  He  was  yellowish-brown,  like 
an  over-ripe  lemon;  he  wore  a  cotton  shirt  and  rag- 
ged linen  trousers  girded  by  a  leather  belt.  His  face 
was  like  an  animal's,  live  and  wary,  but  without 
promise  of  much  intelligence.  This  man  jabbered 
with  animation  and  so  much  seriousness  that  it 
seemed  a  pity  that  his  words  were  to  be  wasted. 

Dr.  Gregg  felt  his  pulse. 

"  You  sick  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"Mi  mujer  estd enferma  en  la  casa"  said  the  man, 
thus  endeavouring  to  convey  the  news,  in  the  only 
language  open  to  him,  that  his  wife  lay  ill  in  her  palm- 
thatched  hut. 

The  doctor  drew  a  handful  of  capsules  filled  with 
a  white  powder  from  his  trousers  pocket.  He 
counted  out  ten  of  them  into  the  native's  hand,  and 
held  up  his  forefinger  impressively. 

"  Take  one,"  said  the  doctor,  "  every  two  hours." 
He  then  held  up  two  fingers,  shaking  them  emphati- 
cally before  the  native's  face.  Next  he  pulled  out 
his  watch  and  ran  his  finger  round  its  dial  twice. 
Again  the  two  fingers  confronted  the  patient's  nose. 
"  Two  —  two  —  two  hours,"  repeated  the  doctor. 


62  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"  Si,  Senor,"  said  the  native,  sadly. 

He  pulled  a  cheap  silver  watch  from  his  own  pocket 
and  laid  it  in  the  doctor's  hand.  "  Me  bring,"  said 
he,  struggling  painfully  with  his  scant  English, "  other 
watchy  to-morrow."  Then  he  departed  down-heart- 
edly  with  his  capsules. 

"A  very  ignorant  race  of  people,  sir,"  said  the 
doctor,  as  he  slipped  the  watch  into  his  pocket. 
"He  seems  to  have  mistaken  my  directions  for 
taking  the  physic  for  the  fee.  However,  it  is  all 
right.  He  owes  me  an  account,  anyway.  The 
chances  are  that  he  won't  bring  the  other  watch. 
You  can't  depend  on  anything  they  promise  you. 
About  that  drink,  now?  How  did  you  come 
to  Coralio,  Mr.  Smith?  I  was  not  aware  that 
any  boats  except  the  Karlsefin  had  arrived  for 
some  days." 

The  two  leaned  against  the  deserted  bar;  and  Ma- 
dama  set  out  a  bottle  without  waiting  for  the  doctor's 
order.     There  was  no  dust  on  it. 

After  they  had  drank  twice  Smith  said : 

"You  say  there  were  no  passengers  on  the  Karl- 
sefin, Doc  ?    Are  you  sure  about  that  ?     It  seems  to 


Smith  63 

me  I  heard  somebody  down  on  the  beach  say  that 
there  was  one  or  two  aboard." 

"They  were  mistaken,  sir.  I  myself  went  out 
and  put  all  hands  through  a  medical  examination,  as 
usual.  The  Karlsefin  sails  as  soon  as  she  gets  her 
bananas  loaded,  which  will  be  about  daylight  in  the 
morning,  and  she  got  everything  ready  this  after- 
noon. No,  sir,  there  was  no  passenger  list.  Like 
that  Three-Star?  A  French  schooner  landed  two 
slooploads  of  it  a  month  ago.  If  any  customs  duties 
on  it  went  to  the  distinguished  republic  of  Anchuria 
you  may  have  my  hat.  If  you  won't  have  another, 
come  out  and  let's  sit  in  the  cool  a  while.  It  isn't 
often  we  exiles  get  a  chance  to  talk  with  somebody 
from  the  outside  world." 

The  doctor  brought  out  another  chair  to  the  side- 
walk for  his  new  acquaintance.  The  two  seated 
themselves. 

"You  are  a  man  of  the  world,"  said  Dr.  Gregg; 
"  a  man  of  travel  and  experience.  Your  decision  in 
a  matter  of  ethics  and,  no  doubt,  on  the  points  of 
equity,  ability  and  professional  probity  should  be  of 
value.     I  would  be  glad  if  you  will  listen  to  the  his- 


64  Cabbages  and  Kings 

tory  of  a  case  that  I  think  stands  unique  in  medical 

annals. 

"  About  nine  years  ago,  while  I  was  engaged  in  the 
practice  of  medicine  in  my  native  city,  I  was  called 
to  treat  a  case  of  contusion  of  the  skull.  I  made  the 
diagnosis  that  a  splinter  of  bone  was  pressing  upon 
the  brain,  and  that  the  surgical  operation  known 
as  trepanning  was  required.  However,  as  the  patient 
was  a  gentleman  of  wealth  and  position,  I  called  in  for 
consultation  Dr. — " 

Smith  rose  from  his  chair,  and  laid  a  hand,  soft 
with  apology,  upon  the  doctor's  shirt  sleeve. 

"Say,  Doc,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "I  want  to  hear 
that  story.  You've  got  me  interested;  and  I  don't 
want  to  miss  the  rest  of  it.  I  know  it's  a  loola  by  the 
way  it  begins ;  and  I  want  to  tell  it  at  the  next  meeting 
of  the  Barney  O'Flynn  Association,  if  you  don't  mind. 
But  I've  got  one  or  two  matters  to  attend  to  first.  If 
I  get  'em  attended  to  in  time  I'll  come  right  back  and 
hear  you  spiel  the  rest  before  bedtime  —  is  that 
right?" 

"By  all  means,"  said  the  doctor,  "get  your  busi- 
ness attended  to,  and  then  return.     I  shall  wait  up 


Smith  65 

for  you.  You  see,  one  of  the  most  prominent  phy- 
sicians at  the  consultation  diagnosed  the  trouble  as 
a  blood  clot;  another  said  it  was  an  abscess,  but  I  — " 

"Don't  tell  me  now,  Doc.  Don't  spoil  the  story. 
Wait  till  I  come  back.  I  want  to  hear  it  as  it  runs 
off  the  reel  —  is  that  right  ?  " 

The  mountains  reached  up  their  bulky  shoulders 
to  receive  the  level  gallop  of  Apollo's  homing 
steeds,  the  day  died  in  the  lagoons  and  in  the  shad- 
owed banana  groves  and  in  the  mangrove  swamps, 
where  the  great  blue  crabs  were  beginning  to  crawl  to 
land  for  their  nightly  ramble.  And  it  died,  at  last, 
upon  the  highest  peaks.  Then  the  brief  twilight, 
ephemeral  as  the  flight  of  a  moth,  came  and  went; 
the  Southern  Cross  peeped  with  its  topmost  eye  above 
a  row  of  palms,  and  the  fire-flies  heralded  with  their 
torches  the  approach  of  soft-footed  night. 

In  the  offing  the  Karlsefin  swayed  at  anchor,  her 
lights  seeming  to  penetrate  the  water  to  countless 
fathoms  with  their  shimmering,  lanceolate  reflec- 
tions. The  Caribs  were  busy  loading  her  by  means 
of  the  great  lighters  heaped  full  from  the  piles  of 
fruit  ranged  upon  the  shore. 


66  Cabbages  and  Kings 

On  the  sandy  beach,  with  his  back  against  a  cocoa- 
nut-tree  and  the  stubs  of  many  cigars  lying  around 
him,  Smith  sat  waiting,  never  relaxing  his  sharp  gaze 
in  the  direction  of  the  steamer. 

The  incongruous  yachtsman  had  concentrated 
his  interest  upon  the  innocent  fruiter.  Twice 
had  he  been  assured  that  no  passengers  had  come 
to  Coralio  on  board  of  her.  And  yet,  with  a  per- 
sistence not  to  be  attributed  to  an  idling  voyager, 
he  had  appealed  the  case  to  the  higher  court 
of  his  own  eyesight.  Surprisingly  like  some  gay- 
coated  lizard,  he  crouched  at  the  foot  of  the  cocoa- 
nut  palm,  and  with  the  beady,  shifting  eyes  of 
the  selfsame  reptile,  sustained  his  espionage  on 
the  Karlsefin. 

On  the  white  sands  a  whiter  gig  belonging  to  the 
yacht  was  drawn  up,  guarded  by  one  of  the  white- 
ducked  crew.  Not  far  away  in  a  pulperia  on  the 
shore-following  Calle  Grande  three  other  sailors  swag- 
gered with  their  cues  around  Coralio's  solitary  bil- 
liard-table. The  boat  lay  there  as  if  under  orders 
to  be  ready  for  use  at  any  moment.  There  was 
in  the  atmosphere  a  hint  of  expectation,  of  waiting 


Smith  67 

for  something  to  occur,  which  was  foreign  to  the  air 
of  Coralio. 

Like  some  passing  bird  of  brilliant  plumage,  Smith 
alights  on  this  palmy  shore  but  to  preen  his  wings  for 
an  instant  and  then  to  fly  away  upon  silent  pinions. 
When  morning  dawned  there  was  no  Smith,  no  wait- 
ing gig,  no  yacht  in  the  offing.  Smith  left  no  inti- 
mation of  his  mission  there,  no  footprints  to  show 
where  he  had  followed  the  trail  of  his  mystery  on  the 
sands  of  Coralio  that  night.  He  came;  he  spake  his 
strange  jargon  of  the  asphalt  and  the  cafes;  he  sat 
under  the  cocoanut-tree,  and  vanished.  The  next 
morning  Coralio,  Smithless,  ate  its  fried  plantain  and 
said:  "The  man  of  pictured  clothing  went  him- 
self away."  With  the  siesta  the  incident  passed, 
yawning,  into  history. 

So,  for  a  time,  must  Smith  pass  behind  the  scenes 
of  the  play.  He  comes  no  more  to  Coralio  nor  to 
Doctor  Gregg,  who  sits  in  vain,  wagging  his  redund- 
ant beard,  waiting  to  enrich  his  derelict  audience 
with  his  moving  tale  of  trepanning  and  jealousy. 

But  prosperously  to  the  lucidity  of  these  loose 
pages,  Smith  shall  flutter  among  them  again.     In  the 


68  Cabbages  and  Kings 

nick  of  time  he  shall  come  to  tell  us  why  he  strewed 
so  many  anxious  cigar  stumps  around  the  cocoanut 
palm  that  night.  This  he  must  do;  for,  when  he 
sailed  away  before  the  dawn  in  his  yacht  Rambler, 
he  carried  with  him  the  answer  to  a  riddle  so  big 
and  preposterous  that  few  in  Anchuria  had  ven- 
tured even  to  propound  it. 


CHAPTER   FOUR 

Caught 


1  HE  plans  for  the  detention  of  the  flying  President 
Miraflores  and  his  companion  at  the  coast  line  seemed 
hardly  likely  to  fail.  Dr.  Zavalla  himself  had  gone 
to  the  port  of  Alazan  to  establish  a  guard  at  that 
point.  At  Coralio  the  Liberal  patriot  Varras  could 
be  depended  upon  to  keep  close  watch.  Good- 
win held  himself  responsible  for  the  district  about 
Coralio. 

The  news  of  the  president's  flight  had  been  dis- 
closed to  no  one  in  the  coast  towns  save  trusted  mem- 
bers of  the  ambitious  political  party  that  was  desir- 
ous of  succeeding  to  power.  The  telegraph  wire 
running  from  San  Mateo  to  the  coast  had  been  cut 
far  up  on  the  mountain  trail  by  an  emissary  of 


70  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Za valla's.  Long  before  this  could  be  repaired  and 
word  received  along  it  from  the  capital  the  fugitives 
would  have  reached  the  coast  and  the  question  of 
escape  or  capture  been  solved. 

Goodwin  had  stationed  armed  sentinels  at  fre- 
quent intervals  along  the  shore  for  a  mile  in  each 
direction  from  Coralio.  They  were  instructed  to 
keep  a  vigilant  lookout  during  the  night  to  prevent 
Miraflores  from  attempting  to  embark  stealthily  by 
means  of  some  boat  or  sloop  found  by  chance  at  the 
water's  edge.  A  dozen  patrols  walked  the  streets  of 
Coralio  unsuspected,  ready  to  intercept  the  truant 
official  should  he  show  himself  there. 

Goodwin  was  very  well  convinced  that  no  pre- 
cautions had  been  overlooked.  He  strolled  about 
the  streets  that  bore  such  high-sounding  names  and 
were  but  narrow,  grass-covered  lanes,  lending  his 
own  aid  to  the  vigil  that  had  been  intrusted  to  him 
by  Bob  Englehart. 

The  town  had  begun  the  tepid  round  of  its  nightly 
diversions.  A  few  leisurely  dandies,  clad  in  white 
duck,  with  flowing  neckties,  and  swinging  slim  bam- 
boo canes,  threaded  the  grassy  by-ways  toward  the 


Caught  71 

houses  of  their  favoured  senoritas.  Those  who 
wooed  the  art  of  music  dragged  tirelessly  at  whining 
concertinas,  or  fingered  lugubrious  guitars  at  doors 
and  windows.  An  occasional  soldier  from  the  cuar- 
tel,  with  flapping  straw  hat,  without  coat  or  shoes, 
hurried  by,  balancing  his  long  gun  like  a  lance  in  one 
hand.  From  every  density  of  the  foliage  the  giant 
tree  frogs  sounded  their  loud  and  irritating  clatter. 
Further  out,  where  the  by-ways  perished  at  the  brink 
of  the  jungle,  the  guttural  cries  of  marauding  bab- 
oons and  the  coughing  of  the  alligators  in  the  black 
estuaries  fractured  the  vain  silence  of  the  wood. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  streets  were  deserted.  The  oil 
lamps  that  had  burned,  a  sickly  yellow,  at  random 
corners,  had  been  extinguished  by  some  economical 
civic  agent.  Coralio  lay  sleeping  camly  between  top- 
pling mountains  and  encroaching  sea  like  a  stolen 
babe  in  the  arms  of  its  abductors.  Somewhere  over 
in  that  tropical  darkness  —  perhaps  already  threading 
the  profundities  of  the  alluvial  lowlands  —  the  high 
adventurer  and  his  mate  were  moving  toward  land's 
end.  The  game  of  Fox-in-the-Morning  should  be 
coming  soon  to  its  close. 


72  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Goodwin,  at  his  deliberate  gait,  passed  the  long, 
low  cuartel  where  Coralio's  contingent  of  Anchuria's 
military  force  slumbered,  with  its  bare  toes  pointed 
heavenward.  There  was  a  law  that  no  civilian  might 
come  so  near  the  headquarters  of  that  citadel  of  war 
after  nine  o'clock,  but  Goodwin  was  always  forget- 
ting the  minor  statutes. 

"  Quien  vive?"  shrieked  the  sentinel,  wrestling 
prodigiously  with  his  lengthy  musket. 

"  Americano, "  growled  Goodwin,  without  turning 
his  head,  and  passed  on,  unhalted. 

To  the  right  he  turned,  and  to  the  left  up  the  street 
that  ultimately  reached  the  Plaza  Nacional.  When 
within  the  toss  of  a  cigar  stump  from  the  intersecting 
Street  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  he  stopped  suddenly 
in  the  pathway. 

He  saw  the  form  of  a  tall  man,  clothed  in  black  and 
carrying  a  large  valise,  hurry  down  the  cross-street  in 
the  direction  of  the  beach.  And  Goodwin's  second 
glance  made  him  aware  of  a  woman  at  the  man's  el- 
bow on  the  farther  side,  who  seemed  to  urge  forward, 
if  not  even  to  assist,  her  companion  in  their  swift  but 
silent  progress.     They  were  no  Coralians,  those  two. 


Caught  73 

Goodwin  followed  at  increased  speed,  but  without 
any  of  the  artful  tactics  that  are  so  dear  to  the  heart  of 
the  sleuth.  The  American  was  too  broad  to  feel  the 
instinct  of  the  detective.  He  stood  as  an  agent  for 
the  people  of  Anchuria,  and  but  for  political  reasons 
he  would  have  demanded  then  and  there  the  money. 
It  was  the  design  of  his  party  to  secure  the  imperilled 
fund,  to  restore  it  to  the  treasury  of  the  country,  and 
to  declare  itself  in  power  without  bloodshed  or  resist- 
ance. 

The  couple  halted  at  the  door  of  the  Hotel  de  los 
Estranjeros,  and  the  man  struck  upon  the  wood  with 
the  impatience  of  one  unused  to  his  entry  being 
stayed.  Madama  was  long  in  response;  but  after  a 
time  her  light  showed,  the  door  was  opened,  and  the 
guests  housed. 

Goodwin  stood  in  the  quiet  street,  lighting  another 
cigar.  In  two  minutes  a  faint  gleam  began  to  show 
between  the  slats  of  the  jalousies  in  the  upper  story  of 
the  hotel.  "  They  have  engaged  rooms, "  said  Good- 
win to  himself.  "So,  then,  their  arrangements  for 
sailing  have  yet  to  be  made. " 

At  that  moment  there  came  along  one  Esteban 


74  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Delgado,  a  barber,  an  enemy  to  existing  govern- 
ment, a  jovial  plotter  against  stagnation  in  any 
form.  This  barber  was  one  of  Coralio's  saddest 
dogs,  often  remaining  out  of  doors  as  late  as 
eleven,  post  meridian.  He  was  a  partisan  Liberal; 
and  he  greeted  Goodwin  with  flatulent  importance 
as  a  brother  in  the  cause.  But  he  had  something 
important  to  tell. 

"What  think  you,  Don  Frank!"  he  cried,  in  the 
universal  tone  of  the  conspirator.  "  I  have  to-night 
shaved  la  barba  —  what  you  call  the '  weeskers'  of  the 
Presidente  himself,  of  this  countree !  Consider!  He 
sent  for  me  to  come.  In  the  poor  casita  of  an  old 
woman  he  awaited  me  —  in  a  verree  leetle  house  in 
a  dark  place.  Carramba  1  —  el  Senor  Presidente  to 
make  himself  thus  secret  and  obscured !  I  think  he 
desired  not  to  be  known — but,  carajo!  can  you 
shave  a  man  and  not  see  his  face  ?  This  gold  piece 
he  gave  me,  and  said  it  was  to  be  all  quite  still.  I 
think,  Don  Frank,  there  is  what  you  call  a  chip  over 
the  bug." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  President  Miraflores  before  ?  " 
asked  Goodwin. 


Caught  75 

" But  once, "  answered  Esteban.     u  He  is  tall;  and 
he  had  weeskers,  verree  black  and  sufficient. " 
"  Was  anyone  else  present  when  you  shaved  him  ?" 
"  An  old  Indian  woman,  Sefior,  that  belonged  with 
the  casa,  and  one  senorita — a  ladee  of  so  much  beau- 
tee  !  —  ah,  Dios  !  " 

"  All  right,  Esteban, "  said  Goodwin.  "  It's  very 
lucky  that  you  happened  along  with  your  tonsorial  in- 
formation. The  new  administration  will  be  likely  to 
remember  you  for  this. " 

Then  in  a  few  words  he  made  the  barber  acquaint- 
ed with  the  crisis  into  which  the  affairs  of  the  nation 
had  culminated,  and  instructed  him  to  remain  out- 
side, keeping  watch  upon  the  two  sides  of  the  hotel 
that  looked  upon  the  street,  and  observing  whether 
anyone  should  attempt  to  leave  the  house  by  any  door 
or  window.  Goodwin  himself  went  to  the  door 
through  which  the  guests  had  entered,  opened  it  and 
stepped  inside. 

Madama  had  returned  downstairs  from  her  jour- 
ney above  to  see  after  the  comfort  of  her  lodgers.  Her 
candle  stood  upon  the  bar.  She  was  about  to  take  a 
thimbleful  of  rum  as  a  solace  for  having  her  rest  dis- 


76  Cabbages  and  Kings 

turbed.     She  looked  up  without  surprise  or  alarm  as 

her  third  caller  entered. 

"Ah!  it  is  the  Senor  Goodwin.  Not  often  does 
he  honour  my  poor  house  by  his  presence. " 

"I  must  come  oftener, "  said  Goodwin,  with  the 
Goodwin  smile.  "  I  hear  that  your  cognac  is  the  best 
between  Belize  to  the  north  and  Rio  to  the  south.  Set 
out  the  bottle,  Madama,  and  let  us  have  the  proof  in 
un  vasito  for  each  of  us. " 

"  My  aguardiente, "  said  Madama,  with  pride,  "  is 
the  best.  It  grows,  in  beautiful  bottles,  in  the  dark 
places  among  the  banana-trees.  Si,  Senor.  Only  at 
midnight  can  they  be  picked  by  sailor-men  who  bring 
them,  before  daylight  comes,  to  your  back  door.  Good 
aguardiente  is  a  verree  difficult  fruit  to  handle,  Senor 
Goodwin. " 

Smuggling,  in  Coralio,  was  much  nearer  than  com- 
petition to  being  the  life  of  trade.  One  spoke  of  it 
slyly,  yet  with  a  certain  conceit,  when  it  had  been  well 
accomplished. 

"You  have  guests  in  the  house  to-night,"  said 
Goodwin,  laying  a  silver  dollar  upon  the  counter. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Madama,  counting  the  change. 


Caught  77 

"  Two;  but  the  smallest  while'finished  to  arrive.  One 
senor,  not  quite  old,  and  one  sefiorita  of  sufficient 
handsomeness.  To  their  rooms  they  have  ascended, 
not  desiring  the  to-eat  nor  the  to-drink.  Two  rooms 
—  Numero  9  and  Numero  10. " 

"  I  was  expecting  that  gentleman  and  that  lady, " 
said  Goodwin.  "I  have  important  negocios  that 
must  be  transacted.  Will  you  allow  me  to  see 
them?" 

"Why  not?"  sighed  Madama,  placidly.  "Why 
should  not  Senor  Goodwin  ascend  and  speak  to  his 
friends  ?  Estd  bueno.  Room  Numero  9  and  room 
Numero  10." 

Goodwin  loosened  in  his  coat  pocket  the  American 
revolver  that  he  carried,  and  ascended  the  steep,  dark 
stairway. 

In  the  hallway  above,  the  saffron  light  from  a  hang- 
ing lamp  allowed  him  to  select  the  gaudy  numbers 
on  the  doors.  He  turned  the  knob  of  Number  9, 
entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

If  that  was  Isabel  Guilbert  seated  by  the  table  in 
that  poorly  furnished  room,  report  had  failed  to  do 
her  charms  justice.     She  rested  her  head  upon  one 


78  Cabbages  and  Kings 

hand.  Extreme  fatigue  was  signified  in  every  line  of 
her  figure;  and  upon  her  countenance  a  deep  per- 
plexity was  written.  Her  eyes  were  gray-irised,  and 
of  that  mould  that  seems  to  have  belonged  to  the  orbs 
of  all  the  famous  queens  of  hearts .  Their  whites  were 
singularly  clear  and  brilliant,  concealed  above  the 
irises  by  heavy  horizontal  lids,  and  showing  a  snowy 
line  below  them.  Such  eyes  denote  great  nobility, 
vigour,  and,  if  you  can  conceive  of  it,  a  most  generous 
selfishness.  She  looked  up  when  the  American  en- 
tered, with  an  expression  of  surprised  inquiry,  but 
without  alarm. 

Goodwin  took  off  his  hat  and  seated  himself,  with 
his  characteristic  deliberate  ease,  upon  a  corner  of  the 
table.  He  held  a  lighted  cigar  between  his  fingers. 
He  took  this  familiar  course  because  he  was  sure  that 
preliminaries  would  be  wasted  upon  Miss  Guilbert. 
He  knew  her  history,  and  the  small  part  that  the  con- 
ventions had  played  in  it. 

"Good  evening,"  he  said.  "Now,  madame,  let 
us  come  to  business  at  once.  You  will  observe  that  I 
mention  no  names,  but  I  know  who  is  in  the  next 
room,  and  what  he  carries  in  that  valise.     That  is  the 


Caught  79 

point  which  brings  me  here.  I  have  come  to  dictate 
terms  of  surrender. " 

The  lady  neither  moved  nor  replied,  but  steadily 
regarded  the  cigar  in  Goodwin's  hand. 

"  We, "  continued  the  dictator,  thoughtfully  regard- 
ing the  neat  buckskin  shoe  on  his  gently  swinging 
foot — "I  speak  for  a  considerable  majority  of  the 
people — demand  the  return  of  the  stolen  funds  be- 
longing to  them.  Our  terms  go  very  little  further 
than  that.  They  are  very  simple.  As  an  accredited 
spokesman,  I  promise  that  our  interference  will  cease 
if  they  are  accepted.  Give  up  the  money,  and  you 
and  your  companion  will  be  permitted  to  proceed 
wherever  you  will.  In  fact,  assistance  will  be  given 
you  in  the  matter  of  securing  a  passage  by  any  out- 
going vessel  you  may  choose.  It  is  on  my  personal 
responsibility  that  I  add  congratulations  to  the  gen- 
tleman in  Number  10  upon  his  taste  in  feminine 
charms. " 

Returning  his  cigar  to  his  mouth,  Goodwin  ob- 
served her,  and  saw  that  her  eyes  followed  it  and 
rested  upon  it  with  icy  and  significant  concentration. 
Apparently  she  had  not  heard  a  word  he  had  said. 


80  Cabbages  and  Kings 

He  understood,  tossed  the  cigar  out  the  window,  and, 

with  an  amused  laugh,  slid  from  the  table  to  his  feet. 

"  That  is  better, "  said  the  lady.  "  It  makes  it  pos- 
sible for  me  to  listen  to  you.  For  a  second  lesson  in 
good  manners,  you  might  now  tell  me  by  whom  I  am 
being  insulted. " 

"  I  am  sorry, "  said  Goodwin,  leaning  one  hand  on 
the  table,  "that  my  time  is  too  brief  for  devoting 
much  of  it  to  a  course  of  etiquette.  Come,  now;  I 
appeal  to  your  good  sense.  You  have  shown  your- 
self, in  more  than  one  instance,  to  be  well  aware  of 
what  is  to  your  advantage.  This  is  an  occasion  that 
demands  the  exercise  of  your  undoubted  intelligence. 
There  is  no  mystery  here.  I  am  Frank  Goodwin; 
and  I  have  come  for  the  money.  I  entered  this  room 
at  a  venture.  Had  I  entered  the  other  I  would  have 
had  it  before  now.  Do  you  want  it  in  words  ?  The 
gentleman  in  Number  10  has  betrayed  a  great  trust. 
He  has  robbed  his  people  of  a  large  sum,  and  it  is  I 
who  will  prevent  their  losing  it.  I  do  not  say  who 
that  gentleman  is ;  but  if  I  should  be  forced  to  see  him 
and  he  should  prove  to  be  a  certain  high  official  of  the 
republic,  it  will  be  my  duty  to  arrest  him.     The  house 


Caught  81 

is  guarded.  I  am  offering  you  liberal  terms.  It  is 
not  absolutely  necessary  that  I  confer  personally  with 
the  gentleman  in  the  next  room.  Bring  me  the  valise 
containing  the  money,  and  we  will  call  the  affair 
ended." 

The  lady  arose  from  her  chair  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment, thinking  deeply. 

"Do  you  live  here,  Mr.  Goodwin ?"  she  asked, 
presently. 

"Yes." 

"  What  is  your  authority  for  this  intrusion  ?  " 

"I  am  an  instrument  of  the  republic.  I  was  ad- 
vised by  wire  of  the  movements  of  the  —  gentleman 
in  Number  10. " 

"  May  I  ask  you  two  or  three  questions  ?  I  be- 
lieve you  to  be  a  man  more  apt  to  be  truthful  than  — 
timid.  What  sort  of  a  town  is  this  —  Coralio,  I 
think  they  call  it?" 

"Not  much  of  a  town,"  said  Goodwin,  smiling. 
"  A  banana  town,  as  they  run.  Grass  huts,  'dobes, 
five  or  six  two-story  houses,  accommodations  limited, 
population  half-breed  Spanish  and  Indian,  Caribs 
and  blackamoors.     No  sidewalks  to  speak  of,  no 


82  Cabbages  and  Kings 

amusements.    Rather  unmoral.    That's  an  offhand 
sketch,  of  course. " 

"Are  there  any  inducements,  say  in  a  social  or  in  a 
business  way,  for  people  to  reside  here  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Goodwin,  smiling  broadly. 
"  There  are  no  afternoon  teas,  no  hand-organs,  no  de- 
partment stores  —  and  there  is  no  extradition  treaty." 

"  He  told  me, "  went  on  the  lady,  speaking  as  if  to 
herself,  and  with  a  slight  frown,  "that  there  were 
towns  on  this  coast  of  beauty  and  importance;  that 
there  was  a  pleasing  social  order  —  especially  an 
American  colony  of  cultured  residents. " 

"There  is  an  American  colony,"  said  Goodwin, 
gazing  at  her  in  some  wonder.  "  Some  of  the  mem- 
bers are  all  right.  Some  are  fugitives  from  justice 
from  the  States.  I  recall  two  exiled  bank  presidents, 
one  army  paymaster  under  a  cloud,  a  couple  of  man- 
slayers,  and  a  widow  —  arsenic,  I  believe,  was  the  sus- 
picion in  her  case.  I  myself  complete  the  colony, 
but,  as  yet,  I  have  not  distinguished  myself  by  any 
particular  crime. " 

"Do  not  lose  hope,"  said  the  lady,  dryly;  "I  see 
nothing  in  your  actions  to-night  to  guarantee  you  fur- 


Caught  83 

ther  obscurity.  Some  mistake  has  been  made ;  I  do 
not  know  just  where.  But  him  you  shall  not  disturb 
to-night.  The  journey  has  fatigued  him  so  that  he 
has  fallen  asleep,  I  think,  in  his  clothes.  You  talk  of 
stolen  money!  I  do  not  understand  you.  Some 
mistake  has  been  made.  I  will  convince  you.  Re- 
main where  you  are  and  I  will  bring  you  the  valise 
that  you  seem  to  covet  so,  and  show  it  to  you. " 

She  moved  toward  the  closed  door  that  connected 
the  two  rooms,  but  stopped,  and  half  turned  and  be- 
stowed upon  Goodwin  a  grave,  searching  look  that 
ended  in  a  quizzical  smile. 

"You  force  my  door,"  she  said,  "and  you  follow 
your  ruffianly  behaviour  with  the  basest  accusations ; 
and  yet " —  she  hesitated,  as  if  to  reconsider  what  she 
was  about  to  say  — "  and  yet  —  it  is  a  puzzling  thing 
—  I  am  sure  there  has  been  some  mistake. " 

She  took  a  step  toward  the  door,  but  Goodwin 
stayed  her  by  a  light  touch  upon  her  arm.  I  have 
said  before  that  women  turned  to  look  at  him  in  the 
streets.  He  was  the  viking  sort  of  man,  big,  good- 
looking,  and  with  an  air  of  kindly  truculence.  She 
was  dark  and  proud,  glowing  or  pale  as  her  mood 


84  Cabbages  and  Kings 

moved  her.  I  do  not  know  if  Eve  were  light  or  dark, 
but  if  such  a  woman  had  stood  in  the  garden  I  know 
that  the  apple  would  have  been  eaten.  This  woman 
was  to  be  Goodwin's  fate,  and  he  did  not  know  it;  but 
he  must  have  felt  the  first  throes  of  destiny,  for,  as  he 
faced  her,  the  knowledge  of  what  report  named  her 
turned  bitter  in  his  throat. 

"  If  there  has  been  any  mistake,"  he  said,  hotly,  "  it 
was  yours.  I  do  not  blame  the  man  who  has  lost  his 
country,  his  honour,  and  is  about  to  lose  the  poor  con- 
solation of  his  stolen  riches  as  much  as  I  blame  you, 
for,  by  Heaven!  I  can  very  well  see  how  he  was 
brought  to  it.  I  can  understand,  and  pity  him.  It  is 
such  women  as  you  that  strew  this  degraded  coast 
with  wretched  exiles,  that  make  men  forget  their 
trusts,  that  drag  —  " 

The  lady  interrupted  him  with  a  weary  gesture. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  continue  your  insults, "  she 
said,  coldly.  "I  do  not  understand  what  you  are 
saying,  nor  do  I  know  what  mad  blunder  you  are 
making;  but  if  the  inspection  of  the  contents  of  a 
gentleman's  portmanteau  will  rid  me  of  you,  let  us 
delay  it  no  longer. " 


Caught  85 

She  passed  quickly  and  noiselessly  into  the  other 
room,  and  returned  with  the  heavy  leather  valise, 
which  she  handed  to  the  American  with  an  air  of  pa- 
tient contempt. 

Goodwin  set  the  valise  quickly  upon  the  table  and 
began  to  unfasten  the  straps.  The  lady  stood  by, 
with  an  expression  of  infinite  scorn  and  weariness 
upon  her  face. 

The  valise  opened  wide  to  a  powerful,  sidelong 
wrench.  Goodwin  dragged  out  two  or  three  articles 
of  clothing,  exposing  the  bulk  of  its  contents  —  pack- 
age after  package  of  tightly  packed  United  States 
bank  and  treasury  notes  of  large  denomination. 
Reckoning  from  the  high  figures  written  upon  the 
paper  bands  that  bound  them,  the  total  must  have 
come  closely  upon  the  hundred  thousand  mark. 

Goodwin  glanced  swiftly  at  the  woman,  and  saw, 
with  surprise  and  a  thrill  of  pleasure  that  he  wondered 
at,  that  she  had  experienced  an  unmistakable  shock. 
Her  eyes  grew  wide,  she  gasped,  and  leaned  heavily 
against  the  table.  She  had  been  ignorant,  then,  he 
inferred,  that  her  companion  had  looted  the  govern- 
ment treasury.     But  why,  he  angrily  asked  himself, 


86  Cabbages  and  Kings 

should  he  be  so  well  pleased  to  think  this  wandering 
and  unscrupulous  singer  not  so  black  as  report  had 
painted  her? 

A  noise  in  the  other  room  startled  them  both.  The 
door  swung  open,  and  a  tall,  elderly,  dark  complex- 
ioned  man,  recently  shaven,  hurried  into  the  room. 

All  the  pictures  of  President  Miraflores  represent 
him  as  the  possessor  of  a  luxuriant  supply  of  dark  and 
carefully  tended  whiskers;  but  the  story  of  the  bar- 
ber, Esteban,  had  prepared  Goodwin  for  the  change. 

The  man  stumbled  in  from  the  dark  room,  his  eyes 
blinking  at  the  lamplight,  and  heavy  from  sleep. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ? "  he  demanded  in  excel- 
lent English,  with  a  keen  and  perturbed  look  at  the 
American  — "  robbery  ?  " 

"Very  near  it,"  answered  Goodwin.  "But  I 
rather  think  I'm  in  time  to  prevent  it.  I  represent 
the  people  to  whom  this  money  belongs,  and  I  have 
come  to  convey  it  back  to  them."  He  thrust  his 
hand  into  a  pocket  of  his  loose,  linen  coat. 

The  other  man's  hand  went  quickly  behind  him. 

"Don't  draw,"  called  Goodwin,  sharply;  "I've 
got  you  covered  from  my  pocket. " 


Caught  87 

The  lady  stepped  forward,  and  laid  one  hand  upon 
the  shoulder  of  her  hesitating  companion.  She 
pointed  to  the  table.  "Tell  me  the  truth  —  the 
truth, "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Whose  money  is 
that?" 

The  man  did  not  answer.  He  gave  a  deep,  long- 
drawn  sigh,  leaned  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead, 
stepped  back  into  the  other  room  and  closed  the  door. 

Goodwin  foresaw  his  purpose,  and  jumped  for  the 
door,  but  the  report  of  the  pistol  echoed  as  his  hand 
touched  the  knob.  A  heavy  fall  followed,  and  some 
one  swept  him  aside  and  struggled  into  the  room  of 
the  fallen  man. 

A  desolation,  thought  Goodwin,  greater  than  that 
derived  from  the  loss  of  cavalier  and  gold  must  have 
been  in  the  heart  of  the  enchantress  to  have  wrung 
from  her,  in  that  moment,  the  cry  of  one  turning  to 
the  all-forgiving,  all-comforting  earthly  consoler  —  to 
have  made  her  call  out  from  that  bloody  and  dishon- 
oured room — "Oh,  mother,  mother,  mother!" 

But  there  was  an  alarm  outside.  The  barber,  Es- 
teban,  at  the  sound  of  the  shot,  had  raised  his  voice; 
and  the  shot  itself  had  aroused  half  the  town.     A  pat- 


88  Cabbages  and  Kings 

tering  of  feet  came  up  the  street,  and  official  orders 
rang  out  on  the  still  air.  Goodwin  had  a  duty  to  per- 
form. Circumstances  had  made  him  the  custodian 
of  his  adopted  country's  treasure.  Swiftly  cramming 
the  money  into  the  valise,  he  closed  it,  leaned  far 
out  of  the  window  and  dropped  it  into  a  thick  orange- 
tree  in  the  little  inclosure  below. 

They  will  tell  you  in  Coralio,  as  they  delight  in  tell- 
ing the  stranger,  of  the  conclusion  of  that  tragic 
flight.  They  will  tell  you  how  the  upholders  of  the 
law  came  apace  when  the  alarm  was  sounded  —  the 
Comandante  in  red  slippers  and  a  jacket  like  a  head 
waiter's  and  girded  sword,  the  soldiers  with  their  in- 
terminable guns,  followed  by  outnumbering  officers 
struggling  into  their  gold  lace  and  epaulettes;  the 
barefooted  policemen  (the  only  capables  in  the  lot), 
and  ruffled  citizens  of  every  hue  and  description. 

They  say  that  the  countenance  of  the  dead  man  was 
marred  sadly  by  the  effects  of  the  shot;  but  he  was 
identified  as  the  fallen  president  by  both  Goodwin 
and  the  barber  Esteban.  On  the  next  morning  mes- 
sages began  to  come  over  the  mended  telegraph  wire; 


Caught  89 

and  the  story  of  the  flight  from  the  capital  was  given 
out  to  the  public.  In  San  Mateo  the  revolutionary 
party  had  seized  the  sceptre  of  government,  without 
opposition,  and  the  vivas  of  the  mercurial  populace 
quickly  effaced  the  interest  belonging  to  the  unfor- 
tunate Miraflores. 

They  will  relate  to  you  how  the  new  government 
sifted  the  towns  and  raked  the  roads  to  find  the  valise 
containing  Anchuria's  surplus  capital,  which  the  pres- 
ident was  known  to  have  carried  with  him,  but  all  in 
vain.  In  Coralio  Sefior  Goodwin  himself  led  the 
searching  party  which  combed  that  town  as  carefully 
as  a  woman  combs  her  hair;  but  the  money  was  not 
found. 

So  they  buried  the  dead  man,  without  honours, 
back  of  the  town  near  the  little  bridge  that  spans  the 
mangrove  swamp;  and  for  a  real  a  boy  will  show  you 
his  grave.  They  say  that  the  old  woman  in  whose 
hut  the  barber  shaved  the  president  placed  the  wooden 
slab  at  his  head,  and  burned  the  inscription  upon  it 
with  a  hot  iron. 

You  will  hear  also  that  Sefior  Goodwin,  like  a 
tower  of  strength,  shielded  Dona  Isabel   Guilbert 


90  Cabbages  and  Kings 

through  those  subsequent  distressful  days;  and  that 
his  scruples  as  to  her  past  career  (if  he  had  any)  van- 
ished; and  her  adventuresome  waywardness  (if  she 
had  any)  left  her,  and  they  were  wedded  and  were 
happy. 

The  American  built  a  home  on  a  little  foot  hill 
near  the  town.  It  is  a  conglomerate  structure  of  na- 
tive woods  that,  exported,  would  be  worth  a  fortune, 
and  of  brick,  palm,  glass,  bamboo  and  adobe.  There 
is  a  paradise  of  nature  about  it;  and  something  of  the 
same  sort  within.  The  natives  speak  of  its  interior 
with  hands  uplifted  in  admiration.  There  are  floors 
polished  like  mirrors  and  covered  with  hand-woven 
Indian  rugs  of  silk  fibre,  tall  ornaments  and  pictures, 
musical  instruments  and  papered  walls  — "  figure-it- 
to-yourself  ! "  they  exclaim. 

But  they  cannot  tell  you  in  Coralio  (as  you  shall 
learn)  what  became  of  the  money  that  Frank  Good- 
win dropped  into  the  orange-tree.  But  that  shall 
come  later;  for  the  palms  are  fluttering  in  the  breeze, 
bidding  us  to  sport  and  gaiety. 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

Cupid's  Exile  Number  Two 


1  HE  United  States  of  America,  after  looking  over 
its  stock  of  consular  timber,  selected  Mr.  John  De 
Graffenreid  Atwood,  of  Dalesburg,  Alabama,  for  a 
successor  to  Willard  Geddie,  resigned. 

Without  prejudice  to  Mr.  Atwood,  it  will  have  to 
be  acknowledged  that,  in  this  instance,  it  was  the 
man  who  sought  the  office.  As  with  the  self-ban- 
ished Geddie,  it  was  nothing  less  than  the  artful 
smiles  of  lovely  woman  that  had  driven  Johnny  At- 
wood to  the  desperate  expedient  of  accepting  office 
under  a  despised  Federal  Government  so  that  he 
might  go  far,  far  away  and  never  see  again  the  false, 
fair  face  that  had  wrecked  his  young  life.  The  con- 
sulship at  Coralio  seemed  to  offer  a  retreat  sufficiently 


92  Cabbages  and  Kings 

removed  and  romantic  enough  to  inject  the  necessary 

drama  into  the  pastoral  scenes  of  Dalesburg  life. 

It  was  while  playing  the  part  of  Cupid's  exile  that 
Johnny  added  his  handiwork  to  the  long  list  of  casu- 
alties along  the  Spanish  Main  by  his  famous  ma- 
nipulation of  the  shoe  market,  and  his  unparalleled 
feat  of  elevating  the  most  despised  and  useless  weed 
in  his  own  country  from  obscurity  to  be  a  valuable 
product  in  international  commerce. 

The  trouble  began,  as  trouble  often  begins  instead 
of  ending,  with  a  romance.  In  Dalesburg  there  was 
a  man  named  Elijah  Hemstetter,  who  kept  a  general 
store.  His  family  consisted  of  one  daughter  called 
Rosine,  a  name  that  atoned  much  for  "Hemstetter." 
This  young  woman  was  possessed  of  plentiful  attrac- 
tions, so  that  the  young  men  of  the  community  were 
agitated  in  their  bosoms.  Among  the  more  agitated 
was  Johnny,  the  son  of  Judge  Atwood,  who  lived  in 
the  big  colonial  mansion  on  the  edge  of  Dalesburg. 

It  would  seem  that  the  desirable  Rosine  should 
have  been  pleased  to  return  the  affection  of  an  At- 
wood, a  name  honoured  all  over  the  state  long  before 
and  since  the  war.     It  does  seem  that  she  should  have 


Cupid's  Exile  Number  Two  93 

gladly  consented  to  have  been  led  into  that  stately 
but  rather  empty  colonial  mansion.  But  not  so. 
There  was  a  cloud  on  the  horizon,  a  threatening, 
cumulus  cloud,  in  the  shape  of  a  lively  and  shrewd 
young  farmer  in  the  neighbourhood  who  dared  to 
enter  the  lists  as  a  rival  to  the  high-born  Atwood. 

One  night  Johnny  propounded  to  Rosine  a  ques- 
tion that  is  considered  of  much  importance  by  the 
young  of  the  human  species.  The  accessories  were 
all  there  —  moonlight,  oleanders,  magnolias,  the 
mock -bird's  song.  Whether  or  no  the  shadow  of 
Pinkney  Dawson,  the  prosperous  young  farmer  came 
between  them  on  that  occasion  is  not  known;  but 
Rosine's  answer  was  unfavourable.  Mr.  John  De 
Graffenried  Atwood  bowed  till  his  hat  touched  the 
lawn  grass,  and  went  away  with  his  head  high,  but 
with  a  sore  wound  in  his  pedigree  and  heart.  A 
Hemstetter  refuse  an  Atwood !     Zounds ! 

Among  other  accidents  of  that  year  was  a  Demo- 
cratic president.  Judge  Atwood  was  a  warhorse  of 
Democracy.  Johnny  persuaded  him  to  set  the 
wheels  moving  for  some  foreign  appointment.  He 
would  go  away  —  away.     Perhaps  in  years  to  come 


94  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Rosine  would  think  how  true,  how  faithful  his  love  had 
been,  and  would  drop  a  tear — maybe  in  the  cream  she 
would  be  skimming  for  Pink  Dawson's  breakfast. 

The  wheels  of  politics  revolved;  and  Johnny  was 
appointed  consul  to  Coralio.  Just  before  leaving 
he  dropped  in  at  Hemstetter's  to  say  good-bye.  There 
was  a  queer,  pinkish  look  about  Rosine's  eyes;  and 
had  the  two  been  alone,  the  United  States  might  have 
had  to  cast  about  for  another  consul.  But  Pink 
Dawson  was  there,  of  course,  talking  about  his  400- 
acre  orchard,  and  the  three-mile  alfalfa  tract,  and 
the  200-acre  pasture.  So  Johnny  shook  hands  with 
Rosine  as  coolly  as  if  he  were  only  going  to  run  up 
to  Montgomery  for  a  couple  of  days.  They  had  the 
royal  manner  when  they  chose,  those  Atwoods. 

"  If  you  happen  to  strike  anything  in  the  way  of  a 
good  investment  down  there,  Johnny,"  said  Pink 
Dawson,  "  just  let  me  know,  will  you  ?  I  reckon  I 
could  lay  my  hands  on  a  few  extra  thousands  'most 
any  time  for  a  profitable  deal." 

"  Certainly,  Pink,"  said  Johnny,  pleasantly.  "  If 
I  strike  anything  of  the  sort  I'll  let  you  in  with 
pleasure." 


Cupid's  Exile  Number  Two  95 

So  Johnny  went  down  to  Mobile  and  took  a  fruit 
steamer  for  the  coast  of  Anchuria. 

When  the  new  consul  arrived  in  Coralio  the 
strangeness  of  the  scenes  diverted  him  much.  He 
was  only  twenty-two;  and  the  grief  of  youth  is  not 
worn  like  a  garment  as  it  is  by  older  men.  It  has 
its  seasons  when  it  reigns;  and  then  it  is  unseated 
for  a  time  by  the  assertion  of  the  keen  senses. 

Billy  Keogh  and  Johnny  seemed  to  conceive  a 
mutual  friendship  at  once.  Keogh  took  the  new 
consul  about  town  and  presented  him  to  the  hand- 
ful of  Americans  and  the  smaller  number  of  French 
and  Germans  who  made  up  the  "foreign"  contin- 
gent. And  then,  of  course,  he  had  to  be  more  for- 
mally introduced  to  the  native  officials,  and  have 
his  credentials  transmitted  through  an  interpreter. 

There  was  something  about  the  young  Southerner 
that  the  sophisticated  Keogh  liked.  His  manner 
was  simple  almost  to  boyishness;  but  he  possessed 
the  cool  carelessness  of  a  man  of  far  greater  age  and 
experience.  Neither  uniforms  nor  titles,  red  tape 
nor  foreign  languages,  mountains  nor  sea  weighed 
upon  his  spirits.     He  was  heir  to  all  the  ages,  an 


96  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Atwood,  of  Dalesburg;  and  you  might  know  every 

thought  conceived  in  his  bosom. 

Geddie  came  down  to  the  consulate  to  explain  the 
duties  and  workings  of  the  office.  He  and  Keogh 
tried  to  interest  the  new  consul  in  their  description  of 
the  work  that  his  government  expected  him  to  per- 
form. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Johnny  from  the  hammock 
that  he  had  set  up  as  the  official  reclining  place.  "  If 
anything  turns  up  that  has  to  be  done  I'll  let  you 
fellows  do  it.  You  can't  expect  a  Democrat  to  work 
during  his  first  term  of  holding  office." 

"  You  might  look  over  these  headings,"  suggested 
Geddie,  "  of  the  different  lines  of  exports  you  will 
have  to  keep  account  of.  The  fruit  is  classified ;  and 
there  are  the  valuable  woods,  coffee,  rubber — " 

"  That  last  account  sounds  all  right,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Atwood.  "  Sounds  as  if  it  could  be  stretched. 
I  want  to  buy  a  new  flag,  a  monkey,  a  guitar  and 
a  barrel  of  pineapples.  Will  that  rubber  account 
stretch  over  'em  ?  " 

"That's  merely  statistics,"  said  Geddie,  smiling. 
"The  expense  account  is  what  you  want,     It  is 


Cwpid's  Exile  Number  Two  97 

supposed  to  have  a  slight  elasticity.  The  '  stationery ' 
items  are  sometimes  carelessly  audited  by  the  State 
Department." 

"  We're  wasting  our  time,"  said  Keogh.  "  This 
man  was  born  to  hold  office.  He  penetrates  to  the 
root  of  the  art  at  one  step  of  his  eagle  eye.  The 
true  genius  of  government  shows  its  hand  in  every 
word  of  his  speech." 

"  I  didn't  take  this  job  with  any  intention  of  work- 
ing," explained  Johnny,  lazily.  "  I  wanted  to  go 
somewhere  in  the  world  where  they  didn't  talk  about 
farms.     There  are  none  here,  are  there  ?  " 

"  Not  the  kind  you  are  acquainted  with,"  answered 
the  ex-consul.  "  There  is  no  such  art  here  as  agricul- 
ture. There  never  was  a  plow  or  a  reaper  within 
the  boundaries  of  Anchuria." 

"  This  is  the  country  for  me,"  murmured  the  con- 
sul, and  immediately  he  fell  asleep. 

The  cheerful  tintypist  pursued  his  intimacy  with 
Johnny  in  spite  of  open  charges  that  he  did  so  to 
obtain  a  preemption  on  a  seat  in  that  coveted  spot, 
the  rear  gallery  of  the  consulate.  But  whether  his 
designs    were    selfish    or    purely    friendly,    Keogh 


98  Cabbages  and  Kings 

achieved  that  desirable  privilege.  Few  were  the 
nights  on  which  the  two  could  not  be  found  reposing 
there  in  the  sea  breeze,  with  their  heels  on  the  railing, 
and  the  cigars  and  brandy  conveniently  near. 

One  evening  they  sat  thus,  mainly  silent,  for  their 
talk  had  dwindled  before  the  stilling  influence  of  an 
unusual  night. 

There  was  a  great,  full  moon;  and  the  sea  was 
mother-of-pearl.  Almost  every  sound  was  hushed, 
for  the  air  was  but  faintly  stirring;  and  the  town  lay 
panting,  waiting  for  the  night  to  cool.  Off-shore 
lay  the  fruit  steamer  Andador,  of  the  Vesuvius  line, 
full-laden  and  scheduled  to  sail  at  six  in  the  morning. 
There  were  no  loiterers  on  the  beach.  So  bright 
was  the  moonlight  that  the  two  men  could  see  the 
small  pebbles  shining  on  the  beach  where  the  gentle 
surf  wetted  them. 

Then  down  the  coast,  tacking  close  to  shore,  slowly 
swam  a  little  sloop,  white-winged  like  some  snowy 
sea  fowl.  Its  course  lay  within  twenty  points  of 
the  wind's  eye;  so  it  veered  in  and  out  again  in  long, 
slow  strokes  like  the  movements  of  a  graceful  skater. 

Again  the  tactics  of  its  crew  brought  it  close  in- 


Cupid's  Exile  Number  Two  99 

shore,  this  time  nearly  opposite  the  consulate;  and 
then  there  blew  from  the  sloop  clear  and  surprising 
notes  as  if  from  a  horn  of  elf  land.  A  fairy  bugle 
it  might  have  been,  sweet  and  silvery  and  unexpected, 
playing  with  spirit  the  familiar  air  of  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home." 

It  was  a  scene  set  for  the  land  of  the  lotus.  The 
authority  of  the  sea  and  the  tropics,  the  mystery  that 
attends  unknown  sails,  and  the  prestige  of  drifting 
music  on  moonlit  waters  gave  it  an  anodynous  charm. 
Johnny  Atwood  felt  it,  and  thought  of  Dalesburg; 
but  as  soon  as  Keogh's  mind  had  arrived  at  a  theory 
concerning  the  peripatetic  solo  he  sprang  to  the 
railing,  and  his  ear-rending  yawp  fractured  the  silence 
of  Coralio  like  a  cannon  shot. 

"Mel-lin-ger  a-hoy!  " 

The  sloop  was  now  on  its  outward  tack;  but  from 
it  came  a  clear,  answering  hail : 

"  Good-bye,  Billy   .     .     .     go-ing  home  —  bye ! " 

The  Andador  was  the  sloop's  destination.  No 
doubt  some  passenger  with  a  sailing  permit  from 
some  up-the-coast  point  had  come  down  in  this  sloop 
to  catch  the  regular  fruit  steamer  on  its  return  trip. 


100  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Like  a  coquettish  pigeon  the  little  boat  tacked  on  its 
eccentric  way  until  at  last  its  white  sail  was  lost  to 
sight  against  the  larger  bulk  of  the  fruiter's  side. 

"That's  old  H.  P.  Mellinger,"  explained  Keogh, 
dropping  back  into  his  chair.  "  He's  going  back  to 
New  York.  He  was  private  secretary  of  the  late 
hot-foot  president  of  this  grocery  and  fruit  stand  that 
they  call  a  country.  His  job's  over  now;  and  I  guess 
old  Mellinger  is  glad." 

"  Why  does  he  disappear  to  music,  like  Zo-zo,  the 
magic  queen  ?  "  asked  Johnny.  "  Just  to  show  'em 
that  he  doesn't  care  ?  " 

"That  noise  you  heard  is  a  phonograph,"  said 
Keogh.  "I  sold  him  that.  Mellinger  had  a  graft 
in  this  country  that  was  the  only  thing  of  its  kind  in 
the  world.  The  tooting  machine  saved  it  for  him 
once,  and  he  always  carried  it  around  with  him 
afterward." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  demanded  Johnny,  betraying 
interest. 

"  I'm  no  disseminator  of  narratives,"  said  Keogh. 
"I  can  use  language  for  purposes  of  speech;  but 
when  I  attempt  a  discourse  the  words  come  out  as 


Cupid's  Exile  Number  Two  101 
they  will,  and  they  may  make  sense  when  they  strike 
the  atmosphere,  or  they  may  not." 

"I  want  to  hear  about  that  graft,"  persisted 
Johnny.  "You've  got  no  right  to  refuse.  I've  told 
you  all  about  every  man,  woman  and  hitching  post 
in  Dalesburg." 

"  You  shall  hear  it,"  said  Keogh.  "  I  said  my  in- 
stincts of  narrative  were  perplexed.  Don't  you  be- 
lieve it.  It's  an  art  I've  acquired  along  with  many 
other  of  the  graces  and  sciences." 


CHAPTER   SIX 

The  Phonograph  arid  the  Graft 


WHAT  was  this  graft?"  asked  Johnny,  with 
the  impatience  of  the  great  public  to  whom  tales 
are  told. 

"  'Tis  contrary  to  art  and  philosophy  to  give  you 
the  information,"  said  Keogh,  calmly.  "The  art 
of  narrative  consists  in  concealing  from  your  audience 
everything  it  wants  to  know  until  after  you  expose 
your  favourite  opinions  on  topics  foreign  to  the  sub- 
ject. A  good  story  is  like  a  bitter  pill  with  the  sugar 
coating  inside  of  it.  I  will  begin,  if  you  please,  with 
a  horoscope  located  in  the  Cherokee  Nation;  and  end 
with  a  moral  tune  on  the  phonograph. 

"Me  and  Henry  Horsecollar  brought  the  first 
phonograph  to  this  country.     Henry  was  a  quarter- 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  103 
breed,  quarter-back  Cherokee,  educated  East  in  the 
idioms  of  football,  and  West  in  contraband  whisky, 
and  a  gentleman,  the  same  as  you  and  me.  He  was 
easy  and  romping  in  his  ways ;  a  man  about  six  foot, 
with  a  kind  of  rubber-tire  movement.  Yes,  he  was  a 
little  man  about  five  foot  five,  or  five  foot  eleven.  He 
was  what  you  would  call  a  medium  tall  man  of  aver- 
age smallness.  Henry  had  quit  college  once,  and 
the  Muscogee  jail  three  times  —  the  last-named 
institution  on  account  of  introducing  and  selling 
whisky  in  the  territories.  Henry  Horsecollar  never 
let  any  cigar  stores  come  up  and  stand  behind  him. 
He  didn't  belong  to  that  tribe  of  Indians. 

"Henry  and  me  met  at  Texarkana,  and  figured 
out  this  phonograph  scheme.  He  had  $360  which 
came  to  him  out  of  a  land  allotment  in  the  reservation. 
I  had  run  down  from  Little  Rock  on  account  of  a 
distressful  scene  I  had  witnessed  on  the  street  there. 
A  man  stood  on  a  box  and  passed  around  some  gold 
watches,  screw  case,  stem-winders,  Elgin  movement, 
very  elegant.  Twenty  bucks  they  cost  you  over  the 
counter.  At  three  dollars  the  crowd  fought  for  the 
tickers.    The  man  happened  to  find  a  valise  full  of 


104  Cabbages  and  Kings 

them  handy,  and  he  passed  them  out  like  putting 
hot  biscuits  on  a  plate.  The  backs  were  hard  to  un- 
screw, but  the  crowd  put  its  ear  to  the  case,  and  they 
ticked  mollifying  and  agreeable.  Three  of  these 
watches  were  genuine  tickers;  the  rest  were  only 
kickers.  Hey  ?  Why,  empty  cases  with  one  of  them 
horny  black  bugs  that  fly  around  electric  lights  in 
'em.  Them  bugs  kick  off  minutes  and  seconds  in- 
dustrious and  beautiful.  So,  this  man  I  was  speak- 
ing of  cleaned  up  $288;  and  then  he  went  away,  be- 
cause he  knew  that  when  it  came  time  to  wind 
watches  in  Little  Rock  an  entomologist  would  be 
needed,  and  he  wasn't  one. 

"So,  as  I  say,  Henry  had  $360,  and  I  had  $288. 
The  idea  of  introducing  the  phonograph  to  South 
America  was  Henry's;  but  I  took  to  it  freely,  being 
fond  of  machinery  of  all  kinds. 

"  *  The  Latin  races,'  says  Henry,  explaining  easy 
in  the  idioms  he  learned  at  college,  '  are  peculiarly 
adapted  to  be  victims  of  the  phonograph.  They  have 
the  artistic  temperament.  They  yearn  for  music  and 
color  and  gaiety.  They  give  wampum  to  the  hand- 
organ  man  and  the  four-legged  chicken  in  the  tent 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  105 
when  they're  months  behind  with  the  grocery  and 
the  bread-fruit  tree.' 

"  *  Then, '  says  I,  '  we'll  export  canned  music  to 
the  Latins;  but  I'm  mindful  of  Mr.  Julius  Caesar's 
account  of  'em  where  he  says :  "  Omnia  Gallia  in 
tres  partes  divisa  est;"  which  is  the  same  as  to  say, 
"  We  will  need  all  of  our  gall  in  devising  means  to 
tree  them  parties." ' 

"I  hated  to  make  a  show  of  education;  but  I 
was  disinclined  to  be  overdone  in  syntax  by  a  mere 
Indian,  a  member  of  a  race  to  which  we  owe  nothing 
except  the  land  on  which  the  United  States  is 
situated. 

"  We  bought  a  fine  phonograph  in  Texarkana  — 
one  of  the  best  make  —  and  half  a  trunkful  of  records. 
We  packed  up,  and  took  the  T.  and  P.  for  New 
Orleans.  From  that  celebrated  centre  of  molasses 
and  disfranchised  coon  songs  we  took  a  steamer  for 
South  America. 

"We  landed  at  Solitas,  forty  miles  up  the  coast 
from  here.  'Twas  a  palatable  enough  place  to  look 
at.  The  houses  were  clean  and  white;  and  to  look 
at  'em  stuck  around  among  the  scenery  they  re- 


106  Cabbages  and  Kings 

minded  you  of  hard-boiled  eggs  served  with  lettuce. 
There  was  a  block  of  skyscraper  mountains  in  the 
suburbs ;  and  they  kept  pretty  quiet,  like  they  had 
crept  up  there  and  were  watching  the  town.  And 
the  sea  was  remarking  'Sh-sh-sh'  on  the  beach; 
and  now  and  then  a  ripe  cocoanut  would  drop  ker- 
blip  in  the  sand;  and  that  was  all  there  was  doing. 
Yes,  I  judge  that  town  was  considerably  on  the  quiet. 
I  judge  that  after  Gabriel  quits  blowing  his  horn, 
and  the  car  starts,  with  Philadelphia  swinging  to  the 
last  strap,  and  Pine  Gully,  Arkansas,  hanging  onto 
the  rear  step,  this  town  of  Solitas  will  wake  up  and 
ask  if  anybody  spoke. 

"The  captain  went  ashore  with  us,  and  offered  to 
conduct  what  he  seemed  to  like  to  call  the  obsequies. 
He  introduced  Henry  and  me  to  the  United  States 
Consul,  and  a  roan  man,  the  head  of  the  Department 
of  Mercenary  and  Licentious  Dispositions,  the  way 
it  read  upon  his  sign. 

" '  I  touch  here  again  a  week  from  to-day,'  says  the 
captain. 

"'By  that  time,'  we  told  him,  'we'll  be  amassing 
wealth  in   the  interior  towns  with  our  galvanized 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  107 
prima  donna  and  correct  imitations  of  Sousa's  band 
excavating  a  march  from  a  tin  mine.' 

"'Ye'll  not,'  says  the  captain.  'Ye'll  be  hypno- 
tized. Any  gentleman  in  the  audience  who  kindly 
steps  upon  the  stage  and  looks  this  country  in  the 
eye  will  be  converted  to  the  hypothesis  that  he's  but 
a  fly  in  the  Elgin  creamery.  Ye'll  be  standing  knee 
deep  in  the  surf  waiting  for  me,  and  your  machine  for 
making  Hamburger  steak  out  of  the  hitherto  re- 
spected art  of  music  will  be  playing  "There's  no 
place  like  home." ' 

"  Henry  skinned  a  twenty  off  his  roll,  and  received 
from  the  Bureau  of  Mercenary  Dispositions  a  paper 
bearing  a  red  seal  and  a  dialect  story,  and  no  change. 

"Then  we  got  the  consul  full  of  red  wine,  and 
struck  him  for  a  horoscope.  He  was  a  thin,  youngish 
kind  of  man,  I  should  say  past  fifty,  sort  of  French- 
Irish  in  his  affections,  and  puffed  up  with  disconso- 
lation.  Yes,  he  was  a  flattened  kind  of  a  man,  in 
whom  drink  lay  stagnant,  inclined  to  corpulence  and 
misery.  Yes,  I  think  he  was  a  kind  of  Dutchman, 
being  very  sad  and  genial  in  his  ways. 

" '  The  marvelous  invention,'  he  says, '  entitled  the 


108  Cabbages  and  Kings 

phonograph,  has  never  invaded  these  shores.  The 
people  have  never  heard  it.  They  would  not  believe 
it  if  they  should.  Simple-hearted  children  of  nature, 
progress  has  never  condemned  them  to  accept  the 
work  of  a  can-opener  as  an  overture,  and  rag-time 
might  incite  them  to  a  bloody  revolution.  But  you 
can  try  the  experiment.  The  best  chance  you  have 
is  that  the  populace  may  not  wake  up  when  you 
play.  There's  two  ways,'  says  the  consul,  '  they  may 
take  it.  They  may  become  inebriated  with  atten- 
tion, like  an  Atlanta  colonel  listening  to  "Marching 
Through  Georgia,"  or  they  will  get  excited  and  trans- 
pose the  key  of  the  music  with  an  axe  and  yourselves 
into  a  dungeon.  In  the  latter  case/  says  the  consul, 
'  I'll  do  my  duty  by  cabling  to  the  State  Department, 
and  I'll  wrap  the  Stars  and  Stripes  around  you  when 
you  come  to  be  shot,  and  threaten  them  with  the 
vengeance  of  the  greatest  gold  export  and  financial 
reserve  nation  on  earth.  The  flag  is  full  of  bullet 
holes  now,'  says  the  consul,  'made  in  that  way. 
Twice  before,'  says  the  consul,  'I  have  cabled  our 
government  for  a  couple  of  gunboats  to  protect 
American  citizens.     The  first  time  the  Department 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  109 
sent  me  a  pair  of  gum  boots.  The  other  time  was 
when  a  man  named  Pease  was  going  to  be  executed 
here.  They  referred  that  appeal  to  the  Secretary  of 
Agriculture.  Let  us  now  disturb  the  senor  behind 
the  bar  for  a  subsequence  of  the  red  wine.' 

"Thus  soliloquized  the  consul  of  Solitas  to  me 
and  Henry  Horsecollar. 

"  But,  notwithstanding,  we  hired  a  room  that  after- 
noon in  the  Calle  de  los  Angeles,  the  main  street  that 
runs  along  the  shore,  and  put  our  trunks  there.  'Twas 
a  good-sized  room,  dark  and  cheerful,  but  small. 
'Twas  on  a  various  street,  diversified  by  houses  and 
conservatory  plants.  The  peasantry  of  the  city 
passed  to  and  fro  on  the  fine  pasturage  between  the 
sidewalks.  'Twas,  for  the  world,  like  an  opera 
chorus  when  the  Royal  Kafoozlum  is  about  to 
enter. 

"We  were  rubbing  the  dust  off  the  machine  and 
getting  fixed  to  start  business  the  next  day,  when  a 
big,  fine-looking  white  man  in  white  clothes  stopped 
at  the  door  and  looked  in.  We  extended  the  invita- 
tions, and  he  walked  inside  and  sized  us  up.  He 
was  chewing  a  long  cigar,  and  wrinkling  his  eyes, 


110  Cabbages  and  Kings 

meditative,  like  a  girl  trying  to  decide  which  dress 

to  wear  to  the  party. 

" '  New  York  ? '  he  says  to  me  finally. 

"'Originally,  and  from  time  to  time,'  I  says. 
'Hasn't  it  rubbed  off  yet?' 

"'It's  simple,'  says  he,  'when  you  know  how.  It's 
the  fit  of  the  vest.  They  don't  cut  vests  right  any- 
where else.     Coats,  maybe,  but  not  vests.' 

"The  white  man  looks  at  Henry  Horsecollar  and 
hesitates. 

"'Injun,'  says  Henry;  'tame  Injun.' 

" '  Mellinger,'  says  the  man  — '  Homer  P.  Mel- 
linger.  Boys,  you're  confiscated.  You're  babes  in 
the  wood  without  a  chaperon  or  referee,  and  it's  my 
duty  to  start  you  going.  I'll  knock  out  the  props 
and  launch  you  proper  in  the  pellucid  waters  of  this 
tropical  mud  puddle.  You'll  have  to  be  christened, 
and  if  you'll  come  with  me  I'll  break  a  bottle  of  wine 
across  your  bows,  according  to  Hoyle.' 

"Well,  for  two  days  Homer  P.  Mellinger  did  the 
honors.  That  man  cut  ice  in  Anchuria.  He  was 
It.  He  was  the  Royal  Kafoozlum.  If  me  and 
Henry  was  babes  in  the  wood,  he  was  a  Robin  Red- 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  111 
breast  from  the  topmost  bough.  Him  and  me  and 
Henry  Horsecollar  locked  arms,  and  toted  that  pho- 
nograph around,  and  had  wassail  and  diversions. 
Everywhere  we  found  doors  open  we  went  inside 
and  seb  the  machine  going,  and  Mellinger  called 
upon  the  people  to  observe  the  artful  music 
and  his  two  lifelong  friends,  the  Senors  Americanos. 
The  opera  chorus  was  agitated  with  esteem, 
and  followed  us  from  house  to  house.  There 
was  a  different  kind  of  drink  to  be  had  with  every 
tune.  The  natives  had  acquirements  of  a  pleasant 
think  in  the  way  of  a  drink  that  gums  itself  to 
the  recollection.  They  chop  off  the  end  of  a 
green  cocoanut,  and  pour  in  on  the  juice  of  it  French 
brandy  and  other  adjuvants.  We  had  them  and 
other  things. 

"  Mine  and  Henry's  money  was  counterfeit.  Every- 
thing was  on  Homer  P.  Mellinger.  That  man  could 
find  rolls  of  bills  concealed  in  places  on  his  person 
where  Hermann  the  Wizard  couldn't  have  conjured 
out  a  rabbit  or  an  omelette.  He  could  have  founded 
universities,  and  made  orchid  collections,  and  then 
had  enough  left  to  purchase  the  colored  vote  of  his 


112  Cabbages  and  Kings 

country.     Henry  and  me  wondered  what  his  graft 

was.     One  evening  he  told  us. 

"'Boys/  said  he,  'I've  deceived  you.  You  think 
I'm  a  painted  butterfly;  but  in  fact  I'm  the  hardest 
worked  man  in  this  country.  Ten  years  ago  I  landed 
on  its  shores;  and  two  years  ago  on  the  point  of  its 
jaw.  Yes,  I  guess  I  can  get  the  decision  over  this 
ginger  cake  commonwealth  at  the  end  of  any  round 
I  choose.  I'll  confide  in  you  because  you  are  my 
countrymen  and  guests,  even  if  you  have  assaulted 
my  adopted  shores  with  the  worst  system  of  noises 
ever  set  to  music. 

"'My  job  is  private  secretary  to  the  president  of 
this  republic;  and  my  duties  are  running  it.  I'm  not 
headlined  in  the  bills,  but  I'm  the  mustard  in  the 
salad  dressing  just  the  same.  There  isn't  a  law 
goes  before  Congress,  there  isn't  a  concession  granted, 
there  isn't  an  import  duty  levied  but  what  H.  P. 
Mellinger  he  cooks  and  seasons  it.  In  the  front 
office  I  fill  the  president's  inkstand  and  search  visit- 
ing statesmen  for  dirks  and  dynamite;  but  in  the 
back  room  I  dictate  the  policy  of  the  government. 
You'd  never  guess  in  the  world  how  I  got  my  pull. 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  113 
It's  the  only  graft  of  its  kind  on  earth.  I'll  put  you 
wise.  You  remember  the  old  top-liner  in  the  copy 
book  —  " Honesty  is  the  Best  Policy?"  That's  it. 
I'm  working  honesty  for  a  graft.  I'm  the  only  honest 
man  in  the  republic.  The  government  knows  it;  the 
people  know  it;  the  boodlers  know  it;  the  foreign 
investors  know  it.  I  make  the  government  keep  its 
faith.  If  a  man  is  promised  a  job  he  gets  it.  If 
outside  capital  buys  a  concession  it  gets  the  goods. 
I  run  a  monopoly  of  square  dealing  here.  There's 
no  competition.  If  Colonel  Diogenes  were  to  flash 
his  lantern  in  this  precinct  he'd  have  my  address  in- 
side of  two  minutes.  There  isn't  big  money  in  it, 
but  it's  a  sure  thing,  and  lets  a  man  sleep  of  nights.' 

"Thus  Homer  P.  Mellinger  made  oration  to  me 
and  Henry  Horsecollar.  And,  later,  he  divested  him- 
self of  this  remark: 

"  'Boys,  I'm  to  hold  a  soiree  this  evening  with  a 
gang  of  leading  citizens,  and  I  want  your  assistance. 
You  bring  the  musical  corn  sheller  and  give  the  affair 
the  outside  appearance  of  a  function.  There's  im- 
portant business  on  hand,  but  it  musn't  show.  I  can 
talk  to  you  people.     I've  been  pained  for  years  on  ac- 


114  Cabbages  and  Kings 

count  of  not  having  anybody  to  blow  off  and  brag  to. 
I  get  homesick  sometimes,  and  I'd  swap  the  entire 
perquisites  of  office  for  just  one  hour  to  have  a  stein 
and  a  caviare  sandwich  somewhere  on  Thirty-fourth 
Street,  and  stand  and  watch  the  street  cars  go  by,  and 
smell  the  peanut  roaster  at  old  Giuseppe's  fruit  stand.' 

"  *  Yes,'  said  I, '  there's  fine  caviare  at  Billy  Ren- 
f row's  cafe,  corner  of  Thirty-fourth  and  — ' 

"  'God  knows  it,'  interrupts  Mellinger,  'and  if 
you'd  told  me  you  knew  Billy  Renfrow  I'd  have  in- 
vented tons  of  ways  of  making  you  happy.  Billy  was 
my  side-kicker  in  New  York.  There  is  a  man  who 
never  knew  what  crooked  was.  Here  I  am  working 
Honesty  for  a  graft,  but  that  man  loses  money  on  it. 
Carrambos !  I  get  sick  at  times  of  this  country.  Every- 
thing's rotten.  From  the  executive  down  to  the  cof- 
fee pickers,  they're  plotting  to  down  each  other  and 
skin  their  friends.  If  a  mule  driver  takes  off  his  hat 
to  an  official,  that  man  figures  it  out  that  he's  a  popu- 
lar idol,  and  sets  his  pegs  to  stir  up  a  revolution  and 
upset  the  administration.  It's  one  of  my  little  chores 
as  private  secretary  to  smell  out  these  revolutions  and 
affix  the  kibosh  before  they  break  out  and  scratch  the 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  115 
paint  off  the  government  property.  That's  why  I'm 
down  here  now  in  this  mildewed  coast  town.  The 
governor  of  the  district  and  his  crew  are  plotting  to 
uprise.  I've  got  every  one  of  their  names,  and  they're 
invited  to  listen  to  the  phonograph  to-night,  compli- 
ments of  H.  P.  M.  That's  the  way  I'll  get  them  in  a 
bunch,  and  things  are  on  the  programme  to  happen 
to  them.' 

"  We  three  were  sitting  at  table  in  the  cantina  of  the 
Purified  Saints.  Mellinger  poured  out  wine,  and 
was  looking  some  worried ;  I  was  thinking. 

"  '  They're  a  sharp  crowd, '  he  says,  kind  of  fretful. 
1  They're  capitalized  by  a  foreign  syndicate  after  rub- 
ber, and  they're  loaded  to  the  muzzle  for  bribing.  I'm 
sick, '  goes  on  Mellinger,  *  of  comic  opera.  I  want  to 
smell  East  River  and  wear  suspenders  again.  At 
times  I  feel  like  throwing  up  my  job,  but  I'm  d — n  fool 
enough  to  be  sort  of  proud  of  it.  "  There's  Mellinger," 
they  say  here.  "  Por  Dios  I  you  can't  touch  him  with  a 
million."  I'd  like  to  take  that  record  back  and  show 
it  to  Billy  Renfrow  some  day;  and  that  tightens  my 
grip  whenever  I  see  a  fat  thing  that  I  could  corral  just 
by  winking  one  eye — and  losing  my  graft.     By  — , 


116  Cabbages  and  Kings 

they  can't  monkey  with  me.  They  know  it.  What 
money  I  get  I  make  honest  and  spend  it.  Some  day 
I'll  make  a  pile  and  go  back  and  eat  caviare  with 
Billy.  To-night  I'll  show  you  how  to  handle  a  bunch 
of  corruptionists.  I'll  show  them  what  Mellinger, 
private  secretary,  means  when  you  spell  it  with  the 
cotton  and  tissue  paper  off.' 

"Mellinger  appears  shaky,  and  breaks  his  glass 
against  the  neck  of  the  bottle. 

"  I  says  to  myself,  *  White  man,  if  I'm  not  mistaken 
there's  been  a  bait  laid  out  where  the  tail  of  your  eye 
could  see  it.' 

"That  night,  according  to  arrangements,  me  and 
Henry  took  the  phonograph  to  a  room  in  a  'dobe 
house  in  a  dirty  side  street,  where  the  grass  was  knee 
high.  'Twas  a  long  room,  lit  with  smoky  oil  lamps. 
There  was  plenty  of  chairs,  and  a  table  at  the  back  end. 
We  set  the  phonograph  on  the  table.  Mellinger  was 
there,  walking  up  and  down,  disturbed  in  his  predica- 
ments. He  chewed  cigars  and  spat  'em  out,  and  he 
bit  the  thumb  nail  of  his  left  hand. 

"By  and  by  the  invitations  to  the  musicale  came 
sliding  in  by  pairs  and  threes  and  spade  flushes. 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  117 
Their  colour  was  of  a  diversity,  running  from  a 
three-days'  smoked  meerschaum  to  a  patent-leather 
polish.  They  were  as  polite  as  wax,  being  devastated 
with  enjoyments  to  give  Senor  Mellinger  the  good 
evenings.  I  understood  their  Spanish  talk  —  I  ran  a 
pumping  engine  two  years  in  a  Mexican  silver  mine, 
and  had  it  pat  —  but  I  never  let  on. 

"Maybe  fifty  of  'em  had  come,  and  was  seated, 
when  in  slid  the  king  bee,  the  governor  of  the  dis- 
trict. Mellinger  met  him  at  the  door,  and  escorted 
him  to  the  grand  stand.  When  I  saw  that  Latin  man 
I  knew  that  Mellinger,  private  secretary,  had  all  the 
dances  on  his  card  taken.  That  was  a  big,  squashy 
man,  the  colour  of  a  rubber  overshoe,  and  he  had  an 
eye  like  a  head  waiter's. 

"Mellinger  explained,  fluent,  in  the  Castilian  id- 
ioms, that  his  soul  was  disconcerted  with  joy  at  in- 
troducing to  his  respected  friends  America's  greatest 
invention,  the  wonder  of  the  age.  Henry  got  the 
cue  and  run  on  an  elegant  brass-band  record  and  the 
festivities  became  initiated.  The  governor  man  had 
a  bit  of  English  under  his  hat,  and  when  the  music 
was  choked  off  he  says : 


118  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"  'Ver-r-ree  fine.  Gr-r-r-r-racias,  the  American 
gentleemen,  the  so  esplendeed  moosic  as  to  playee.' 

"  The  table  was  a  long  one,  and  Henry  and  me  sat 
at  the  end  of  it  next  the  wall.  The  governor  sat  at 
the  other  end.  Homer  P.  Mellinger  stood  at  the  side 
of  it.  I  was  just  wondering  how  Mellinger  was  go- 
ing to  handle  his  crowd,  when  the  home  talent  sud- 
denly opened  the  services. 

"That  governor  man  was  suitable  for  uprisings 
and  policies.  I  judge  he  was  a  ready  kind  of  man, 
who  took  his  own  time.  Yes,  he  was  full  of  attention 
and  immediateness.  He  leaned  his  hands  on  the  ta- 
ble and  imposed  his  face  toward  the  secretary  man. 

"  *  Do  the  American  sefiors  understand  Spanish  ? ' 
he  asks  in  his  native  accents. 

"  *  They  do  not,'  says  Mellinger. 

"'Then  listen,'  goes  on  the  Latin  man,  prompt. 
'The musics  are  of  sufficient  prettiness, but  not  of  ne- 
cessity. Let  us  speak  of  business.  I  well  know  why  we 
are  here,  since  I  observe  my  compatriots.  You  had  a 
whisper  yesterday,  Senor  Mellinger,  of  our  proposals. 
To-night  we  will  speak  out.  We  know  that  you 
stand  in  the  president's  favour,  and  we  know  your 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  119 
influence.  The  government  will  be  changed.  We 
know  the  worth  of  your  services.  We  esteem  your 
friendship  and  aid  so  much  that' —  Mellinger  raises 
his  hand,  but  the  governor  man  bottles  him  up.  '  Do 
not  speak  until  I  have  done.' 

"  The  governor  man  then  draws  a  package  wrap- 
ped in  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  lays  it  on  the  table 
by  Mellinger's  hand. 

"  'In  that  you  will  find  fifty  thousand  dollars  in 
money  of  your  country.  You  can  do  nothing  against 
us,  but  you  can  be  worth  that  for  us.  Go  back  to 
the  capital  and  obey  our  instructions.  Take  that 
money  now.  We  trust  you.  You  will  find  with 
it  a  paper  giving  in  detail  the  work  you  will  be 
expected  to  do  for  us.  Do  not  have  the  unwiseness 
to  refuse.' 

"The  governor  man  paused,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Mellinger,  full  of  expressions  and  observances.  I 
looked  at  Mellinger,  and  was  glad  Billy  Renfrow 
couldn't  see  him  then.  The  sweat  was  popping  out 
on  his  forehead,  and  he  stood  dumb,  tapping  the  little 
package  with  the  ends  of  his  fingers.  The  colorado- 
maduro  gang    was  after  his  graft.     He  had  only  to 


120  Cabbages  and  Kings 

change  his  politics,  and  stuff  five  figures  in  his  inside 

pocket. 

"  Henry  whispers  to  me  and  wants  the  pause  in  the 
programme  interpreted.  I  whisper  back:  'H.  P.  is 
up  against  a  bribe,  senator's  size,  and  the  coons  have 
got  him  going.'  I  saw  Mellinger's  hand  moving 
closer  to  the  package.  'He's  weakening,'  I  whis- 
pered to  Henry.  *  We'll  remind  him,'  says  Henry,  'of 
the  peanut-roaster  on  Thirty-fourth  Street,  New 
York.' 

"Henry  stooped  down  and  got  a  record  from  the 
basketful  we'd  brought,  slid  it  in  the  phonograph, 
and  started  her  off.  It  was  a  cornet  solo,  very  neat 
and  beautiful,  and  the  name  of  it  was  '  Home,  Sweet 
Home.'  Not  one  of  them  fifty  odd  men  in  the  room 
moved  while  it  was  playing,  and  the  governor  man 
kept  his  eyes  steady  on  Mellinger.  I  saw  Mellinger's 
head  go  up  little  by  little,  and  his  hand  came  creeping 
away  from  the  package.  Not.  until  the  last  note 
sounded  did  anybody  stir.  And  then  Homer  P.  Mel- 
linger takes  up  the  bundle  of  boodle  and  slams  it  in 
the  governor  man's  face. 

" '  That's  my  answer,'  says  Mellinger,  private  sec- 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft  121 
retary, '  and  there'll  be  another  in  the  morning.  I  have 
proofs  of  conspiracy  against  every  man  of  you.  The 
show  is  over,  gentlemen.' 

"'There's  one  more  act,'  puts  in  the  governor 
man.  '  You  are  a  servant,  I  believe,  employed  by  the 
president  to  copy  letters  and  answer  raps  at  the  door. 
I  am  governor  here.  Senores,  I  call  upon  you  in  the 
name  of  the  cause  to  seize  this  man.' 

"That  brindled  gang  of  conspirators  shoved  back 
their  chairs  and  advanced  in  force.  I  could  see  where 
Mellinger  had  made  a  mistake  in  massing  his  enemy 
so  as  to  make  a  grand-stand  play.  I  think  he  made 
another  one,  too;  but  we  can  pass  that,  Mellinger's 
idea  of  a  graft  and  mine  being  different,  according  to 
estimations  and  points  of  view. 

"There  was  only  one  window  and  door  in  that 
room,  and  they  were  in  the  front  end.  Here  was  fifty 
odd  Latin  men  coming  in  a  bunch  to  obstruct  the  leg- 
islation of  Mellinger.  You  may  say  there  were  three 
of  us,  for  me  and  Henry,  simultaneous,  declared  New 
York  City  and  the  Cherokee  Nation  in  sympathy  with 
the  weaker  party. 

"Then  it  was  that  Henry  Horsecollar  rose  to  a 


122  Cabbages  and  Kings 

point  of  disorder  and  intervened,  showing,  admirable, 
the  advantages  of  education  as  applied  to  the  Ameri- 
can Indian's  natural  intellect  and  native  refinement. 
He  stood  up  and  smoothed  back  his  hair  on  each  side 
with  his  hands  as  you  have  seen  little  girls  do  when 
they  play. 

" '  Get  behind  me,  both  of  you/  says  Henry. 

" '  What's  it  to  be,  chief  ?'  I  asked. 

"'I'm  going  to  buck  centre,'  says  Henry,  in  his 
football  idioms.  There  isn't  a  tackle  in  the  lot  of 
them.     Follow  me  close,  and  rush  the  game.' 

"Then  that  cultured  Red  Man  exhaled  an  ar- 
rangement of  sounds  with  his  mouth  that  made  the 
Latin  aggregation  pause,  with  thoughtfulness  and 
hesitations.  The  matter  of  his  proclamation  seemed 
to  be  a  co-operation  of  the  Carlisle  war-whoop  with 
the  Cherokee  college  yell.  He  went  at  the  chocolate 
team  like  a  bean  out  of  a  little  boy's  nigger  shooter. 
His  right  elbow  laid  out  the  governor  man  on  the 
gridiron,  and  he  made  a  lane  the  length  of  the  crowd 
so  wide  that  a  woman  could  have  carried  a  step-lad- 
der through  it  without  striking  against  anything.  All 
Mellinger  and  me  had  to  do  was  to  follow. 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft      123 

"  It  took  us  just  three  minutes  to  get  out  of  that 
street  around  to  military  headquarters,  where  Mel- 
linger  had  things  his  own  way.  A  colonel  and  a 
battalion  of  bare-toed  infantry  turned  out  and  went 
back  to  the  scene  of  the  musicale  with  us,  but  the 
conspirator  gang  was  gone.  But  we  recaptured  the 
phonograph  with  honours  of  war,  and  marched  back 
to  the  cuartel  with  it  playing  'All  Coons  Look  Alike 
to  Me/ 

"  The  next  day  Mellinger  takes  me  and  Henry  to 
one  side,  and  begins  to  shed  tens  and  twenties. 

"'I  want  to  buy  that  phonograph,'  says  he.  'I 
liked  that  last  tune  it  played  at  the  soiree.9 

" '  This  is  more  money  than  the  machine  is  worth,' 
says  I. 

""Tis  government  expense  money,'  says  Mellin- 
ger. 'The  government  pays  for  it,  and  it's  getting 
the  tune-grinder  cheap.' 

"  Me  and  Henry  knew  that  pretty  well.  We  knew 
that  it  had  saved  Homer  P.  Mellinger's  graft  when  he 
was  on  the  point  of  losing  it;  but  we  never  let  him 
know  we  knew  it. 

Now  you  boys  better  slide  off  further  down  the 


124  Cabbages  and  Kings 

coast  for  a  while,'  says  Mellinger,  *  till  I  get  the  screws 
put  on  these  fellows  here.  If  you  don't  they'll  give 
you  trouble.  And  if  you  ever  happen  to  see  Billy 
Renfrow  again  before  I  do,  tell  him  I'm  coming  back 
to  New  York  as  soon  as  I  can  make  a  stake — Jionest.' 

"  Me  and  Henry  laid  low  until  the  day  the  steamer 
came  back.  When  we  saw  the  captain's  boat  on  the 
beach  we  went  down  and  stood  in  the  edge  of  the 
water.     The  captain  grinned  when  he  saw  us. 

"  *  I  told  you  you'd  be  waiting,'  he  says.  *  Where's 
the  Hamburger  machine  ? ' 

"  *  It  stays  behind,'  I  says, '  to  play  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home.'" 

"  *  I  told  you  so,'  says  the  captain  again.  *  Climb 
in  the  boat.' 

"And  that,"  said  Keogh,  "is  the  way  me  and 
Henry  Horsecollar  introduced  the  phonograph  into 
this  country.  Henry  went  back  to  the  States,  but 
I've  been  rummaging  around  in  the  tropics  ever  since 
They  say  Mellinger  never  travelled  a  mile  after  that 
without  his  phonograph.  I  guess  it  kept  him  reminded 
about  his  graft  whenever  he  saw  the  siren  voice  of  the 
boodler  tip  him  the  wink  with  a  bribe  in  its  hand." 


The  Phonograph  and  the  Graft      125 
"  I  suppose  he's  taking  it  home  with  him  as  a  sou- 
venir," remarked  the  consul. 

"Not  as  a  souvenir,"  said  Keogh.     "He'll  need 
two  of  'em  in  New  York,  running  day  and  night." 


CHAPTER   SEVEN 
Money  Maze 


1  HE  new  administration  of  Anchuria  entered 
upon  its  duties  and  privileges  with  enthusiasm.  Its 
first  act  was  to  send  an  agent  to  Coralio  with  impera- 
tive orders  to  recover,  if  possible,  the  sum  of 
money  ravished  from  the  treasury  by  the  ill-fated 
Miraflores. 

Colonel  Emilio  Falcon,  the  private  secretary  of  Lo- 
sada,  the  new  president,  was  despatched  from  the  cap- 
ital upon  this  important  mission. 

The  position  of  private  secretary  to  a  tropical  presi- 
dent is  a  responsible  one.  He  must  be  a  diplomat,  a 
spy,  a  ruler  of  men,  a  body-guard  to  his  chief,  and  a 
smeller-out  of  plots  and  nascent  revolutions.  Often 
he  is  the  power  behind  the  throne,  the  dictator  of  pol- 


Money  Maze  127 

icy;  and  a  president  chooses  him  with  a  dozen  times 
the  care  with  which  he  selects  a  matrimonial  mate. 

Colonel  Falcon,  a  handsome  and  urbane  gentle- 
man of  Castilian  courtesy  and  debonnaire  manners, 
came  to  Coralio  with  the  task  before  him  of  striking 
upon  the  cold  trail  of  the  lost  money.  There  he  con- 
ferred with  the  military  authorities,  who  had  received 
instructions  to  co-operate  with  him  in  the  search. 

Colonel  Falcon  established  his  headquarters  in  one 
of  the  rooms  of  the  Casa  Morena.  Here  for  a  week 
he  held  informal  sittings  —  much  as  if  he  were  a  kind 
of  unified  grand  jury  —  and  summoned  before  him  all 
those  whose  testimony  might  illumine  the  financial 
tragedy  that  had  accompanied  the  less  momentous 
one  of  the  late  president's  death. 

Two  or  three  who  were  thus  examined,  among 
whom  was  the  barber  Esteban,  declared  that  they 
had  identified  the  body  of  the  president  before  its 
burial. 

"  Of  a  truth, "  testified  Esteban  before  the  mighty 
secretary,  "it  was  he,  the  president.  Consider!  — 
how  could  I  shave  a  man  and  not  see  his  face  ?  He 
sent  for  me  to  shave  him  in  a  small  house.     He  had  a 


128  Cabbages  and  Kings 

beard  very  black  and  thick.  Had  I  ever  seen  the 
president  before  ?  Why  not  ?  I  saw  him  once  ride 
forth  in  a  carriage  from  the  vapor  in  Solitas.  When 
I  shaved  him  he  gave  me  a  gold  piece,  and  said  there 
was  to  be  no  talk.  But  I  am  a  Liberal —  I  am  de- 
voted to  my  country  —  and  I  spake  of  these  things  to 
Senor  Goodwin." 

"It  is  known,"  said  Colonel  Falcon,  smoothly, 
"  that  the  late  President  took  with  him  an  American 
leather  valise,  containing  a  large  amount  of  money. 
Did  you  see  that  ?  " 

"  De  veras — no, "  Esteban  answered.  "  The  light 
in  the  little  house  was  but  a  small  lamp  by  which  I 
could  scarcely  see  to  shave  the  President.  Such  a 
thing  there  may  have  been,  but  I  did  not  see  it.  No. 
Also  in  the  room  was  a  young  lady  —  a  senorita  of 
much  beauty  —  that  I  could  see  even  in  so  small  a 
light.  But  the  money,  senor,  or  the  thing  in  which  it 
was  carried  —  that  I  did  not  see. " 

The  comandante  and  other  officers  gave  testimony 
that  they  had  been  awakened  and  alarmed  by  the 
noise  of  a  pistol-shot  in  the  Hotel  de  los  Estranjeros. 
Hurrying  thither  to  protect  the  peace  and  dignity  of 


Money  Maze  129 

the  republic,  they  found  a  man  lying  dead,  with  a 
pistol  clutched  in  his  hand.  Beside  him  was  a  young 
woman,  weeping  sorely.  Senor  Goodwin  was  also  in 
the  room  when  they  entered  it.  But  of  the  valise  of 
money  they  saw  nothing. 

Madame  Timotea  Ortiz,  the  proprietress  of  the 
hotel  in  which  the  game  of  Fox-in-the-Morning  had 
been  played  out,  told  of  the  coming  of  the  two  guests 
to  her  house. 

"  To  my  house  they  came, "  said  she  — "  one  senor ; 
not  quite  old,  and  one  senorita  of  sufficient  handsome- 
ness. They  desired  not  to  eat  or  to  drink  —  not  even 
of  my  aguardiente,  which  is  the  best.  To  their  rooms 
they  ascended  —  Numero  Nueve  and  Numero  Diez. 
Later  came  Senor  Goodwin,  who  ascended  to  speak 
with  them.  Then  I  heard  a  great  noise  like  that  of  a 
canon,  and  they  said  that  the  pobre  Presidente  had 
shot  himself.  Estd  bueno.  I  saw  nothing  of  money 
or  of  the  thing  you  call  veliz  that  you  say  he  carried  it 
in." 

Colonel  Falcon  soon  came  to  the  reasonable  con- 
clusion that  if  anyone  in  Coralio  could  furnish  a  clue 
to  the  vanished  money,  Frank  Goodwin  must  be  the 


130  Cabbages  and  Kings 

man.  But  the  wise  secretary  pursued  a  different 
course  in  seeking  information  from  the  American. 
Goodwin  was  a  powerful  friend  to  the  new  adminis- 
tration, and  one  who  was  not  to  be  carelessly  dealt 
with  in  respect  to  either  his  honesty  or  his  courage. 
Even  the  private  secretary  of  His  Excellency  hesitated 
to  have  this  rubber  prince  and  mahogany  baron 
haled  before  him  as  a  common  citizen  of  Anchuria.  So 
he  sent  Goodwin  a  flowery  epistle,  each  word-petal 
dripping  with  honey,  requesting  the  favour  of  an  in- 
terview. Goodwin  replied  with  an  invitation  to  din- 
ner at  his  own  house. 

Before  the  hour  named  the  American  walked  over 
to  the  Casa  Morena,  and  greeted  his  guest  frankly 
and  friendly.  Then  the  two  strolled,  in  the  cool  of 
the  afternoon,  to  Goodwin's  home  in  the  environs. 

The  American  left  Colonel  Falcon  in  a  big,  cool, 
shadowed  room  with  a  floor  of  inlaid  and  polished 
woods  that  any  millionaire  in  the  States  would  have 
envied,  excusing  himself  for  a  few  minutes.  He 
crossed  a  patio.,  shaded  with  deftly  arranged  awnings 
and  plants,  and  entered  a  long  room  looking  upon  the 
sea  in  the  opposite  wing  of  the  house.     The  broad 


Money  Maze  131 

jalousies  were  opened  wide,  and  the  ocean  breeze 
flowed  in  through  the  room,  an  invisible  current  of 
coolness  and  health.  Goodwin's  wife  sat  near  one  of 
the  windows,  making  a  water-color  sketch  of  the  af- 
ternoon seascape. 

Here  was  a  woman  who  looked  to  be  happy.  And 
more  —  she  looked  to  be  content.  Had  a  poet  been 
inspired  to  pen  just  similes  concerning  her  favour,  he 
would  have  likened  her  full,  clear  eyes,  with  their 
white-encircled,  gray  irises,  to  moonflowers.  With 
none  of  the  goddesses  whose  traditional  charms  -have 
become  coldly  classic  would  the  discerning  rhyme- 
ster have  compared  her.  She  was  purely  Paradisaic, 
not  Olympian.  If  you  can  imagine  Eve,  after  the 
eviction,  beguiling  the  flaming  warriors  and  serenely 
re-entering  the  Garden,  you  will  have  her.  Just  so 
human,  and  still  so  harmonious  with  Eden  seemed 
Mrs.  Goodwin. 

When  her  husband  entered  she  looked  up,  and  her 
lips  curved  and  parted ;  her  eyelids  fluttered  twice  or 
thrice  —  a  movement  remindful  (Poesy  forgive  us !)  of 
the  tail-wagging  of  a  faithful  dog  — -  and  a  little  ripple 
went  through  her  like  the  commotion  set  up  in  a 


132  Cabbages  and  Kings 

weeping  willow  by  a  puff  of  wind.  Thus  she  ever 
acknowledged  his  coming,  were  it  twenty  times  a  day. 
If  they  who  sometimes  sat  over  their  wine  in  Coralio, 
reshaping  old,  diverting  stories  of  the  madcap  career 
of  Isabel  Guilbert,  could  have  seen  the  wife  of  Frank 
Goodwin  that  afternoon  in  the  estimable  aura  of  her 
happy  wifehood,  they  might  have  disbelieved,  or  have 
agreed  to  forget,  those  graphic  annals  of  the  lif e  of  the 
one  for  whom  their  president  gave  up  his  country  and 
his  honour. 

"  I  have  brought  a  guest  to  dinner, "  said  Goodwin. 
"  One  Colonel  Falcon,  from  San  Mateo.  He  is  come 
on  government  business.  I  do  not  think  you  will 
care  to  see  him,  so  I  prescribe  for  you  one  of  those 
convenient  and  indisputable  feminine  headaches. " 

"  He  has  come  to  inquire  about  the  lost  money,  has 
he  not?"  asked  Mrs.  Goodwin,  going  on  with  her 
sketch. 

"A  good  guess!"  acknowledged  Goodwin.  "He 
has  been  holding  an  inquisition  among  the  natives 
for  three  days.  I  am  next  on  his  list  of  witnesses, 
but  as  he  feels  shy  about  dragging  one  of  Uncle 
Sam's  subjects  before  him,  he  consents  to  give  it  the 


Money  Maze  133 

outward  appearance  of  a  social  function.  He  will 
apply  the  torture  over  my  own  wine  and  provender.  " 

"Has  he  found  anyone  who  saw  the  valise  of 
money  ?  " 

"Not  a  soul.  Even  Madama  Ortiz,  whose  eyes 
are  so  sharp  for  the  sight  of  a  revenue  official,  does  not 
remember  that  there  was  any  baggage. " 

Mrs.  Goodwin  laid  down  her  brush  and  sighed. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Frank, "  she  said,  "  that  they  are 
giving  you  so  much  trouble  about  the  money.  But 
we  can't  let  them  know  about  it,  can  we  ?  " 

"  Not  without  doing  our  intelligence  a  great  injus- 
tice, "  said  Goodwin,  with  a  smile  and  a  shrug  that  he 
had  picked  up  from  the  natives.  "Americano, 
though  I  am,  they  would  have  me  in  the  calaboza  in 
half  an  hour  if  they  knew  we  had  appropriated  that 
valise.  No;  we  must  appear  as  ignorant  about  the 
money  as  the  other  ignoramuses  in  Coralio. " 

"Do  you  think  that  this  man  they  have  sent  sus- 
pects you?"  she  asked,  with  a  little  pucker  of  her 
brows. 

"  He'd  better  not, "  said  the  American,  carelessly. 
"  It's  lucky  that  no  one  caught  a  sight  of  the  valise  ex- 


134  Cabbages  and  Kings 

cept  myself.  As  I  was  in  the  rooms  when  the  shot 
was  fired,  it  is  not  surprising  that  they  should  want  to 
investigate  my  part  in  the  affair  rather  closely.  But 
there's  no  cause  for  alarm.  This  colonel  is  down  on 
the  list  of  events  for  a  good  dinner,  with  a  dessert  of 
American  '  bluff '  that  will  end  the  matter,  I  think. " 

Mrs.  Goodwin  rose  and  walked  to  the  window. 
Goodwin  followed  and  stood  by  her  side.  She  leaned 
to  him,  and  rested  in  the  protection  of  his  strength,  as 
she  had  always  rested  since  that  dark  night  on  which 
he  had  first  made  himself  her  tower  of  refuge.  Thus 
they  stood  for  a  little  while. 

Straight  through  the  lavish  growth  of  tropical 
branch  and  leaf  and  vine  that  confronted  them  had 
been  cunningly  trimmed  a  vista,  that  ended  at  the 
cleared  environs  of  Coralio,  on  the  banks  of  the  man- 
grove swamp.  At  the  other  end  of  the  aerial  tunnel 
they  could  see  the  grave  and  wooden  headpiece  that 
bore  the  name  of  the  unhappy  President  Miraflores. 
From  this  window  when  the  rains  forbade  the  open, 
and  from  the  green  and  shady  slopes  of  Goodwin's 
fruitful  lands  when  the  skies  were  smiling,  his  wife 
was  wont  to  look  upon  that  grave  with  a  gentle 


Money  Maze  135 

sadness  that  was  now  scarcely  a  mar  to  her  happi- 
ness. 

"  I  loved  him  so,  Frank ! "  she  said,  "  even  after 
that  terrible  flight  and  its  awful  ending.  And  you 
have  been  so  good  to  me,  and  have  made  me  so  happy. 
It  has  all  grown  into  such  a  strange  puzzle.  If  they 
were  to  find  out  that  we  got  the  money  do  you  think 
they  would  force  you  to  make  the  amount  good  to  the 
government  ?  " 

M  They  would  undoubtedly  try, "  answered  Good- 
win. "  You  are  right  about  its  being  a  puzzle.  And 
it  must  remain  a  puzzle  to  Falcon  and  all  his  coun- 
trymen until  it  solves  itself.  You  and  I,  who  know 
more  than  anyone  else,  only  know  half  of  the  solution. 
We  must  not  let  even  a  hint  about  this  money  get 
abroad.  Let  them  come  to  the  theory  that  the  presi- 
dent concealed  it  in  the  mountains  during  his  journey, 
or  that  he  found  means  to  ship  it  out  of  the  country 
before  he  reached  Coralio.  I  don't  think  that  Fal- 
con suspects  me.  He  is  making  a  close  investigation, 
according  to  his  orders,  but  he  will  find  out  nothing." 

Thus  they  spake  together.  Had  anyone  over- 
heard or  v  overseen  them  as  they  discussed  the  lost 


136  Cabbages  and  Kings 

funds  of  Anchuria  there  would  have  been  a  second 
puzzle  presented.  For  upon  the  faces  and  in  the 
bearing  of  each  of  them  was  visible  (if  countenances 
are  to  be  believed)  Saxon  honesty  and  pride  and  hon- 
ourable thoughts.  In  Goodwin's  steady  eye  and  firm 
lineaments,  moulded  into  material  shape  by  the  in- 
ward spirit  of  kindness  and  generosity  and  courage, 
there  was  nothing  reconcilable  with  his  words. 

As  for  his  wife,  physiognomy  championed  her  even 
in  the  face  of  their  accusive  talk.  Nobility  was  in  her 
guise ;  purity  was  in  her  glance.  The  devotion  that 
she  manifested  had  not  even  the  appearance  of  that 
feeling  that  now  and  then  inspires  a  woman  to  share 
the  guilt  of  her  partner  out  of  the  pathetic  greatness  of 
her  love.  No,  there  was  a  discrepancy  here  between 
what  the  eye  would  have  seen  and  the  ear  have  heard. 

Dinner  was  served  to  Goodwin  and  his  guest  in  the 
patio,  under  cool  foliage  and  flowers.  The  American 
begged  the  illustrious  secretary  to  excuse  the  absence 
of  Mrs.  Goodwin,  who  was  suffering,  he  said,  from  a 
headache  brought  on  by  a  slight  calentura. 

After  the  meal  they  lingered,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom, over  their  coffee  and  cigars.     Colonel  Falcon, 


Money  Maze  137 

with  true  Castilian  delicacy,  waited  for  his  host  to 
open  the  question  that  they  had  met  to  discuss.  He 
had  not  long  to  wait.  As  soon  as  the  cigars  were 
lighted,  the  American  cleared  the  way  by  inquiring 
whether  the  secretary's  investigations  in  the  town 
had  furnished  him  with  any  clue  to  the  lost  funds. 

w  I  have  found  no  one  yet, "  admitted  Colonel  Fal- 
con, "  who  even  had  sight  of  the  valise  or  the  money. 
Yet  I  have  persisted.  It  has  been  proven  in  the  capi- 
tal that  President  Miraflores  set  out  from  San  Mateo 
with  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  belonging  to  the 
government,  accompanied  by  Senorita  Isabel  Guil- 
bert,  the  opera  singer.  The  Government,  officially 
and  personally,  is  loathe  to  believe, "  concluded  Col- 
onel Falcon,  with  a  smile,  "that  our  late  President's 
tastes  would  have  permitted  him  to  abandon  on  the 
route,  as  excess  baggage,  either  of  the  desirable  arti- 
cles with  which  his  flight  was  burdened. " 

"  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  hear  what  I  have  to 
say  about  the  affair, "  said  Goodwin,  coming  directly 
to  the  point.     "  It  will  not  require  many  words. 

"  On  that  night,  with  others  of  our  friends  here,  I 
was  keeping  a  lookout  for  the  president,  having  been 


138  Cabbages  and  Kings 

notified  of  his  flight  by  a  telegram  in  our  national 
cipher  from  Englehart,  one  of  our  leaders  in  the  capi- 
tal. About  ten  o'clock  that  night  I  saw  a  man  and  a 
woman  hurrying  along  the  streets.  They  went  to  the 
Hotel  de  los  Estranjeros,  and  engaged  rooms.  I  fol- 
lowed them  upstairs,  leaving  Esteban,  who  had  come 
up,  to  watch  outside.  The  barber  had  told  me  that 
he  had  shaved  the  beard  from  the  president's  face 
that  night;  therefore  I  was  prepared,  when  I  entered 
the  rooms,  to  find  him  with  a  smooth  face.  When  I 
apprehended  him  in  the  name  of  the  people  he  drew  a 
pistol  and  shot  himself  instantly.  In  a  few  minutes 
many  officers  and  citizens  were  on  the  spot.  I  sup- 
pose you  have  been  informed  of  the  subsequent  facts. M 

Goodwin  paused.  Losada's  agent  maintained  an 
attitude  of  waiting,  as  if  he  expected  a  continuance. 

"And  now,"  went  on  the  American,  looking  stead- 
ily into  the  eyes  of  the  other  man,  and  giving  each 
word  a  deliberate  emphasis,  "you  will  oblige  me  by 
attending  carefully  to  what  I  have  to  add.  I  saw 
no  valise  or  receptacle  of  any  kind,  or  any  money  be- 
longing to  the  Republic  of  Anchuria.  If  President 
Miraflores  decamped  with  any  funds  belonging  to  the 


Money  Maze  139 

treasury  of  this  country,  or  to  himself,  or  to  anyone 
else,  I  saw  no  trace  of  it  in  the  house  or  elsewhere,  at 
that  time  or  at  any  other.  Does  that  statement  cover 
the  ground  of  the  inquiry  you  wished  to  make  of  me  ?  " 

Colonel  Falcon  bowed,  and  described  a  fluent 
curve  with  his  cigar.  His  duty  was  performed. 
Goodwin  was  not  to  be  disputed  He  was  a  loyal 
supporter  of  the  government,  and  enjoyed  the  full 
confidence  of  the  new  president.  His  rectitude  had 
been  the  capital  that  had  brought  him  fortune  in  An- 
churia,  just  as  it  had  formed  the  lucrative  "  graft "  of 
Mellinger,  the  secretary  of  Miraflores. 

"  I  thank  you,  Senor  Goodwin, "  said  Falcon,  "  for 
speaking  plainly.  Your  word  will  be  sufficient  for 
the  president.  But,  Senor  Goodwin,  I  am  instructed 
to  pursue  every  clue  that  presents  itself  in  this  matter. 
There  is  one  that  I  have  not  yet  touched  upon.  Our 
friends  in  France,  senor,  have  a  saying,  '  Cherchez  la 
femme,'  when  there  is  a  mystery  without  a  clue.  But 
here  we  do  not  have  to  search.  The  woman  who  ac- 
companied the  late  President  in  his  flight  must 
surely — " 

"  I  must  interrupt  you  there,"  interposed  Goodwin. 


140  Cabbages  and  Kings 

u  It  is  true  that  when  I  entered  the  hotel  for  the  pur- 
pose of  intercepting  President  Miraflores  I  found  a 
lady  there.  I  must  beg  of  you  to  remember  that  that 
lady  is  now  my  wife.  I  speak  for  her  as  I  do  for  my- 
self. She  knows  nothing  of.  the  fate  of  the  valise  or 
of  the  money  that  you  are  seeking.  You  will  say  to 
his  excellency  that  I  guarantee  her  innocence.  I  do 
not  need  to  add  to  you,  Colonel  Falcon,  that  I  do  not 
care  to  have  her  questioned  or  disturbed.  " 

Colonel  Falcon  bowed  again. 

" Por  supuesto,  no!"  he  cried.  And  to  indicate 
that  the  inquiry  was  ended  he  added:  "And  now, 
senor,  let  me  beg  of  you  to  show  me  that  sea  view  from 
your  galeria  of  which  you  spoke.  I  am  a  lover  of  the 
sea." 

In  the  early  evening  Goodwin  walked  back  to  the 
town  with  his  guest,  leaving  him  at  the  corner  of  the 
Calle  Grande.  As  he  was  returning  homeward  one 
"Beelzebub"  Blythe,  with  the  air  of  a  courtier  and 
the  outward  aspect  of  a  scarecrow,  pounced  upon  him 
hopefully  from  the  door  of  a  pulperia. 

Blythe  had  been  re-christened  "  Beelzebub  "  as  an 
acknowledgment  of  the  greatness  of  his  fall.     Once, 


Money  Maze  141 

in  some  distant  Paradise  Lost,  he  had  foregathered 
with  the  angels  of  the  earth.  But  Fate  had  hurled 
him  headlong  down  to  the  tropics,  where  flamed  in 
his  bosom  a  fire  that  was  seldom  quenched.  In  Cora- 
lio  they  called  him  a  beachcomber;  but  he  was,  in 
reality,  a  categorical  idealist  who  strove  to  anamor- 
phosize  the  dull  verities  of  life  by  the  means  of 
brandy  and  rum.  As  Beelzebub,  himself,  might  have 
held  in  his  clutch  with  unwitting  tenacity  his  harp  or 
crown  during  his  tremendous  fall,  so  his  namesake 
had  clung  to  his  gold-rimmed  eyeglasses  as  the  only 
souvenir  of  his  lost  estate.  These  he  wore  with  impres- 
siveness  and  distinction  while  he  combed  beaches  and 
extracted  toll  from  his  friends.  By  some  mysterious 
means  he  kept  his  drink-reddened  face  always  smooth- 
ly shaven.  For  the  rest  he  sponged  gracefully  upon 
whomsoever  he  could  for  enough  to  keep  him  pretty 
drunk,  and  sheltered  from  the  rains  and  night  dews. 
"Hallo,  Goodwin!"  called  the  derelict,  airily.  "  I 
was  hoping  I'd  strike  you.  I  wanted  to  see  you  par- 
ticularly. Suppose  we  go  where  we  can  talk.  Of 
course  you  know  there's  a  chap  down  here  looking  up 
the  money  old  Miraflores  lost. " 


142  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"  Yes,"  said  Goodwin, "  I've  been  talking  with  him. 
Let's  go  into  Espada's  place.  I  can  spare  you  ten 
minutes. " 

They  went  into  the  pulperia  and  sat  at  a  little  table 
upon  stools  with  rawhide  tops. 

"  Have  a  drink  ?  "  said  Goodwin. 

"They  can't  bring  it  too  quickly,"  said  Blythe. 
"  I've  been  in  a  drought  ever  since  morning.  Hi  — 
muchacho  !  —  el  aguardiente  for  acd. " 

"  Now,  what  do  you  want  to  see  me  about  ?  "  asked 
Goodwin,  when  the  drinks  were  before  them. 

"Confound  it,  old  man,"  drawled  Blythe,  "why 
do  you  spoil  a  golden  moment  like  this  with  business  ? 
I  wanted  to  see  you  —  well,  this  has  the  preference. " 
He  gulped  down  his  brandy,  and  gazed  longingly  into 
the  empty  glass. 

"Have  another?"   suggested  Goodwin. 

"Between  gentlemen,"  said  the  fallen  angel,  "I 
don't  quite  like  your  use  of  that  word  '  another. '  It 
isn't  quite  delicate.  But  the  concrete  idea  that  the 
word  represents  is  not  displeasing. " 

The  glasses  were  refilled.  Blythe  sipped  blissfully 
from  his,  as  he  began  to  enter  the  state  of  a  true  idealist. 


Money  Maze  143 

"  I  must  trot  along  in  a  minute  or  two, "  hinted 
Goodwin.     "Was    there    anything    in    particular?" 

Blythe  did  not  reply  at  once. 

"  Old  Losada  would  make  it  a  hot  country,  "  he  re- 
marked at  length,  "  for  the  man  who  swiped  that  grip- 
sack of  treasury  boodle,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

et  Undoubtedly,  he  would, "  agreed  Goodwin 
calmly,  as  he  rose  leisurely  to  his  feet.  u  I'll  be  run- 
ning over  to  the  house  now,  old  man.  Mrs.  Good- 
win is  alone.  There  was  nothing  important  you  had 
to  say,  was  there  ?  " 

"  That's  all, "  said  Blythe.  "  Unless  you  wouldn't 
mind  sending  in  another  drink  from  the  bar  as  you  go 
out.  Old  Espada  has  closed  my  account  to  profit 
and  loss.  And  pay  for  the  lot,  will  you,  like  a  good 
fellow?" 

"  All  right, "    said  Goodwin.     w  Buenas   noches.  " 

"Beelzebub"  Blythe  lingered  over  his  cups,  pol- 
ishing his  eyeglasses  with  a  disreputable  handker- 
chief. 

"I  thought  I  could  do  it,  but  I  couldn't,"  he 
muttered  to  himself  after  a  time.  "A  gentleman 
can't  blackmail  the  man  that  he  drinks  with." 


CHAPTER    EIGHT 

The  Admiral 


&PILLED  milk  draws  few  tears  from  an  Anchurian 
administration.  Many  are  its  lacteal  sources;  and  the 
clocks'  hands  point  forever  to  milking  time.  Even  the 
rich  cream  skimmed  from  the  treasury  by  the  be- 
witched Miraflores  did  not  cause  the  newly-installed 
patriots  to  waste  time  in  unprofitable  regrets.  The 
government  philosophically  set  about  supplying  the 
deficiency  by  increasing  the  import  duties  and  by 
"  suggesting "  to  wealthy  private  citizens  that  con- 
tributions according  to  their  means  would  be  con- 
sidered patriotic  and  in  order.  Prosperity  was 
expected  to  attend  the  reign  of  Losada,  the  new 
president.  The  ousted  office-holders  and  military 
favourites  organized  a  new  "Liberal"  party,  and 


The  Admiral  145 

began  to  lay  their  plans  for  a  re-succession.  Thus 
the  game  of  Anchurian  politics  began,  like  a  Chinese 
comedy,  to  unwind  slowly  its  serial  length.  Here 
and  there  Mirth  peeps  for  an  instant  from  the  wings 
and  illumines  the  florid  lines. 

A  dozen  quarts  of  champagne  in  conjunction  with 
an  informal  sitting  of  the  president  and  his  cabinet 
led  to  the  establishment  of  the  navy  and  the  appoint- 
ment of  Felipe  Carrera  as  its  admiral. 

Next  to  the  champagne  the  credit  of  the  appoint- 
ment belongs  to  Don  Sabas  Placido,  the  newly  con- 
firmed Minister  of  War. 

The  president  had  requested  a  convention  of  his 
cabinet  for  the  discussion  of  questions  politic  and 
for  the  transaction  of  certain  routine  matters  of  state. 
The  session  had  been  signally  tedious;  the  business 
and  the  wine  prodigiously  dry.  A  sudden,  prankish 
humour  of  Don  Sabas,  impelling  him  to  the  deed, 
spiced  the  grave  affairs  of  state  with  a  whiff  of  agree- 
able playfulness. 

In  the  dilatory  order  of  business  had  come  a  bulle- 
tin from  the  coast  department  of  Orilla  del  Mar 
reporting  the  seizure  by  the  custom-house  officers 


146  Cabbages  and  Kings 

at  the  town  of  Coralio  of  the  sloop  Estrella  del  Noche 
and  her  cargo  of  drygoods,  patent  medicines,  granu- 
lated sugar  and  three-star  brandy.  Also  six  Martini 
rifles  and  a  barrel  of  American  whisky.  Caught 
in  the  act  of  smuggling,  the  sloop  with  its  cargo 
was  now,  according  to  law,  the  property  of  the 
republic. 

The  Collector  of  Customs,  in  making  his  report, 
departed  from  the  conventional  forms  so  far  as  to 
suggest  that  the  confiscated  vessel  be  converted  to 
the  use  of  the  government.  The  prize  was  the  first 
capture  to  the  credit  of  the  department  in  ten  years. 
The  collector  took  opportunity  to  pat  his  depart- 
ment on  the  back. 

It  often  happened  that  government  officers  re- 
quired transportation  from  point  to  point  along  the 
coast,  and  means  were  usually  lacking.  Further- 
more, the  sloop  could  be  manned  by  a  loyal  crew 
and  employed  as  a  coast  guard  to  discourage  the  per- 
nicious art  of  smuggling.  The  collector  also  ven- 
tured to  nominate  one  to  whom  the  charge  of  the 
boat  could  be  safely  intrusted  —  a  young  man  of 
Coralio,  Felipe  Carrera  —  not,  be  it  understood,  one 


The  Admiral  147 

of  extreme  wisdom,  but  loyal  and  the  best  sailor 
along  the  coast. 

It  was  upon  this  hint  that  the  Minister  of  War 
acted,  executing  a  rare  piece  of  drollery  that  so  en- 
livened the  tedium  of  executive  session. 

In  the  constitution  of  this  small,  maritime  banana 
republic  was  a  forgotten  section  that  provided  for 
the  maintenance  of  a  navy.  This  provision  —  with 
many  other  wiser  ones  —  had  lain  inert  since  the 
establishment  of  the  republic.  Anchuria  had  no 
navy  and  had  no  use  for  one.  It  was  characteristic 
of  Don  Sabas  —  a  man  at  once  merry,  learned, 
whimsical  and  audacious  —  that  he  should  have  dis- 
turbed the  dust  of  this  musty  and  sleeping  statute 
to  increase  the  humour  of  the  world  by  so  much  as  a 
smile  from  his  indulgent  colleagues. 

With  delightful  mock  seriousness  the  Minister  of 
War  proposed  the  creation  of  a  navy.  He  argued 
its  need  and  the  glories  it  might  achieve  with  such 
gay  and  witty  zeal  that  the  travesty  overcame  with 
its  humour  even  the  swart  dignity  of  President 
Losada  himself. 

The  champagne  was  bubbling  trickily  in  the  veins 


148  Cabbages  and  Kings 

of  the  mercurial  statesmen.  It  was  not  the  custom 
of  the  grave  governors  of  Anchuria  to  enliven  their 
sessions  with  a  beverage  so  apt  to  cast  a  veil  of  dis- 
paragement over  sober  affairs.  The  wine  had  been 
a  thoughtful  compliment  tendered  by  the  agent  of 
the  Vesuvius  Fruit  Company  as  a  token  of  amicable 
relations  —  and  certain  consummated  deals  —  be- 
tween that  company  and  the  republic  of  Anchuria. 

The  jest  was  carried  to  its  end.  A  formidable, 
official  document  was  prepared,  encrusted  with  chro- 
matic seals  and  jaunty  with  fluttering  ribbons,  bear- 
ing the  florid  signatures  of  state.  This  commission 
conferred  upon  el  Sefior  Don  Felipe  Carrera  the  title 
of  Flag  Admiral  of  the  Republic  of  Anchuria.  Thus 
within  the  space  of  a  few  minutes  and  the  dominion 
of  a  dozen  "  extra  dry,"  the  country  took  its  place 
among  the  naval  powers  of  the  world,  and  Felipe 
Carrera  became  entitled  to  a  salute  of  nineteen  guns 
whenever  he  might  enter  port. 

The  southern  races  are  lacking  in  that  particular 
kind  of  humour  that  finds  entertainment  in  the 
defects  and  misfortunes  bestowed  by  Nature.  Ow- 
ing to  this  defect  in  their  constitution  they  are  not 


The  Admiral  149 

moved  to  laughter  (as  are  their  northern  brothers) 
by  the  spectacle  of  the  deformed,  the  feeble-minded 
or  the  insane. 

Felipe  Carrera  was  sent  upon  earth  with  but  half 
his  wits.  Therefore,  the  people  of  Coralio  called  him 
"  El  pobrecito  loco  "  —  "  the  poor  little  crazed  one  " — 
saying  that  God  had  sent  but  half  of  him  to  earth, 
retaining  the  other  half. 

A  sombre  youth,  glowering,  and  speaking  only  at 
the  rarest  times,  Felipe  was  but  negatively  "loco." 
On  shore  he  generally  refused  all  conversation.  He 
seemed  to  know  that  he  was  badly  handicapped  on 
land,  where  so  many  kinds  of  understanding  are 
needed ;  but  on  the  water  his  one  talent  set  him  equal 
with  most  men.  Few  sailors  whom  God  had  care- 
fully and  completely  made  could  handle  a  sailboat  as 
well.  Five  points  nearer  the  wind  than  the  best  of 
them  he  could  sail  his  sloop.  When  the  elements 
raged  and  set  other  men  to  cowering,  the  deficiencies 
of  Felipe  seemed  of  little  importance.  He  was  a 
perfect  sailor,  if  an  imperfect  man.  He  owned  no 
boat,  but  worked  among  the  crews  of  the  schooners 
and   sloops  that  skimmed  the  coast,   trading  and 


150  Cabbages  and  Kings 

freighting  fruit  out  to  the  steamers  where  there  was 

no  harbour.     It  was  through  his  famous  skill  and 

boldness  on  the  sea,  as  well  as  for  the  pity  felt  for  his 

mental  imperfections,  that  he  was  recommended  by 

the  collector  as  a  suitable  custodian  of  the  captured 

sloop. 

When  the  outcome  of  Don  Sabas'  little  pleasantry 
arrived  in  the  form  of  the  imposing  and  preposterous 
commission,  the  collector  smiled.  He  had  not  ex- 
pected such  prompt  and  overwhelming  response  to 
his  recommendation.  He  despatched  a  muchacho  at 
once  to  fetch  the  future  admiral. 

The  collector  waited  in  his  official  quarters.  His 
office  was  in  the  Calle  Grande,  and  the  sea  breezes 
hummed  through  its  windows  all  day.  The  col- 
lector, in  white  linen  and  canvas  shoes,  philandered 
with  papers  on  an  antique  desk.  A  parrot,  perched 
on  a  pen  rack,  seasoned  the  official  tedium  with  a  fire 
of  choice  Castilian  imprecations.  Two  rooms  open- 
ed into  the  collector's.  In  one  the  clerical  force  of 
young  men  of  variegated  complexions  transacted 
with  glitter  and  parade  their  several  duties.  Through 
the  open  door  of  the  other  room  could  be  seen  a 


The  Admiral  151 

bronze  babe,  guiltless  of  clothing,  that  rollicked  upon 
the  floor.  In  a  grass  hammock  a  thin  woman,  tinted 
a  pale  lemon,  played  a  guitar  and  swung  contentedly 
in  the  breeze.  Thus  surrounded  by  the  routine  of 
his  high  duties  and  the  visible  tokens  of  agreeable 
domesticity,  the  collector's  heart  was  further  made 
happy  by  the  power  placed  in  his  hands  to  brighten 
the  fortunes  of  the  "  innocent,"  Felipe. 

Felipe  came  and  stood  before  the  collector.  He 
was  a  lad  of  twenty,  not  ill-favoured  in  looks,  but 
with  an  expression  of  distant  and  pondering  vacuity. 
He  wore  white  cotton  trousers,  down  the  seams  of 
which  he  had  sewed  red  stripes  with  some  vague 
aim  at  military  decoration.  A  flimsy  blue  shirt  fell 
open  at  his  throat;  his  feet  were  bare;  he  held  in  his 
hand  the  cheapest  of  straw  hats  from  the  States. 

"Senor  Carrera,"  said  the  collector,  gravely,  pro- 
ducing the  showy  commission,  "  I  have  sent  for  you 
at  the  president's  bidding.  This  document  that  I 
present  to  you  confers  upon  you  the  title  of  Admiral 
of  this  great  republic,  and  gives  you  absolute  com- 
mand of  the  naval  forces  and  fleet  of  our  country. 
You  may  think,   friend  Felipe,  that  we  have  no 


152  Cabbages  and  Kings 

navy  —  but  yes !  The  sloop  the  Estrella  del  Noche, 
that  my  brave  men  captured  from  the  coast  smug- 
glers, is  to  be  placed  under  your  command.  The  boat 
is  to  be  devoted  to  the  services  of  your  country.  You 
will  be  ready  at  all  times  to  convey  officials  of  the 
government  to  points  along  the  coast  where  they 
may  be  obliged  to  visit.  You  will  also  act  as  a  coast- 
guard to  prevent,  as  far  as  you  may  be  able,  the  crime 
of  smuggling.  You  will  uphold  the  honour  and  pres- 
tige of  your  country  at  sea,  and  endeavour  to  place 
Anchuria  among  the  proudest  naval  powers  of  the 
world.  These  are  your  instructions  as  the  Minister 
of  War  desires  me  to  convey  them  to  you.  Por 
Dios  !  I  do  not  know  how  all  this  is  to  be  accom- 
plished, for  not  one  word  did  his  letter  contain  in 
respect  to  a  crew  or  to  the  expenses  of  this  navy.  Per- 
haps you  are  to  provide  a  crew  yourself,  Senor  Ad- 
miral —  I  do  not  know  —  but  it  is  a  very  high  honour 
that  has  descended  upon  you.  I  now  hand  you  your 
commission.  When  you  are  ready  for  the  boat  I 
will  give  orders  that  she  shall  be  made  over  into  your 
charge.     That  is  as  far  as  my  instructions  go." 

Felipe  took   the    commission   that   the   collector 


The  Admiral  153 

handed  to  him.  He  gazed  through  the  open  window 
at  the  sea  for  a  moment,  with  his  customary  expres- 
sion of  deep  but  vain  pondering.  Then  he  turned 
without  having  spoken  a  word,  and  walked  swiftly 
away  through  the  hot  sand  of  the  street. 

"  Pobrecito  loco!"  sighed  the  collector;  and  the 
parrot  on  the  pen  racks  creeched  "  Loco !  —  loco !  — 
loco!" 

The  next  morning  a  strange  procession  filed 
through  the  streets  to  the  collector's  office.  At  its 
head  was  the  admiral  of  the  navy.  Somewhere 
Felipe  had  raked  together  a  pitiful  semblance  of  a 
military  uniform  —  a  pair  of  red  trousers,  a  dingy 
blue  short  jacket  heavily  ornamented  with  gold  braid, 
and  an  old  fatigue  cap  that  must  have  been  cast 
away  by  one  of  the  British  soldiers  in  Belize  and 
brought  away  by  Felipe  on  one  of  his  coasting  voy- 
ages. Buckled  around  his  waist  was  an  ancient 
ship's  cutlass  contributed  to  his  equipment  by  Pedro 
Lafitte,  the  baker,  who  proudly  asserted  its  inheri- 
tance from  his  ancestor,  the  illustrious  buccaneer. 
At  the  admiral's  heels  tagged  his  newly-shipped 
crew  —  three  grinning,  glossy,  black  Caribs,  bare  to 


154  Cabbages  and  Kings 

the  waist,  the  sand  spurting  in  showers  from  the 

spring  of  their  naked  feet. 

Briefly  and  with  dignity  Felipe  demanded  his 
vessel  of  the  collector.  And  now  a  fresh  honour 
awaited  him.  The  collector's  wife,  who  played  the 
guitar  and  read  novels  in  the  hammock  all  day,  had 
more  than  a  little  romance  in  her  placid,  yellow 
bosom.  She  had  found  in  an  old  book  an  engraving 
of  a  flag  that  purported  to  be  the  naval  flag  of  An- 
churia.  Perhaps  it  had  so  been  designed  by  the 
founders  of  the  nation ;  but,  as  no  navy  had  ever  been 
established,  oblivion  had  claimed  the  flag.  Labo- 
riously with  her  own  hands  she  had  made  a  flag  after 
the  pattern  —  a  red  cross  upon  a  blue-and-white 
ground.  She  presented  it  to  Felipe  with  these  words : 
"  Brave  sailor,  this  flag  is  of  your  country.  Be  true, 
and  defend  it  with  your  life.     Go  you  with  God." 

For  the  first  time  since  his  appointment  the  ad- 
miral showed  a  flicker  of  emotion.  He  took  the 
silken  emblem,  and  passed  his  hand  reverently  over 
its  surface.  "I  am  the  admiral,"  he  said  to  the 
collector's  lady.  Being  on  land  he  could  bring  him- 
self to  no  more  exuberant  expression  of  sentiment. 


The  Admiral  155 

At  sea  with  the  flag  at  the  masthead  of  his  navy, 
some  more  eloquent  exposition  of  feelings  might  be 
forthcoming. 

Abruptly  the  admiral  departed  with  his  crew. 
For  the  next  three  days  they  were  busy  giving  the 
Estrella  del  Noche  a  new  coat  of  white  paint  trimmed 
with  blue.  And  then  Felipe  further  adorned  him- 
self by  fastening  a  handful  of  brilliant  parrot's 
plumes  in  his  cap.  Again  he  tramped  with  his  faith- 
ful crew  to  the  collector's  office  and  formally  notified 
him  that  the  sloop's  name  had  been  changed  to  El 
National. 

During  the  next  few  months  the  navy  had  its  trou- 
bles. Even  an  admiral  is  perplexed  to  know  what 
to  do  without  any  orders.  But  none  came.  Neither 
did  any  salaries.     El  National  swung  idly  at  anchor. 

When  Felipe's  little  store  of  money  was  exhausted 
he  went  to  the  collector  and  raised  the  question  of 
finances. 

"Salaries!"  exclaimed  the  collector,  with  hands 
raised;  "Valgame  Dios  !  not  one  centavo  of  my  own 
pay  have  I  received  for  the  last  seven  months.  The 
pay  of  an  admiral,  do  you  ask  ?     Quien  sabe  ?  Should 


156  Cabbages  and  Kings 

it  be  less  than  three  thousand  pesos?  Mira!  you 
will  see  a  revolution  in  this  country  very  soon.  A 
good  sign  of  it  is  when  the  government  calls  all  the 
time  for  pesos,  pesos,  pesos,  and  pays  none  out." 

Felipe  left  the  collector's  office  with  a  look  almost  , 
of  content  on  his  sombre  face.  A  revolution  would 
mean  fighting,  and  then  the  government  would  need 
his  services.  It  was  rather  humiliating  to  be  an 
admiral  without  anything  to  do,  and  have  a  hungry 
crew  at  your  heels  begging  for  reales  to  buy  plantains 
and  tobacco  with. 

When  he  returned  to  where  his  happy-go-lucky 
Caribs  were  waiting  they  sprang  up  and  saluted,  as 
he  had  drilled  them  to  do. 

"Come,  muchaehos"  said  the  admiral;  "it  seems 
that  the  government  is  poor.  It  has  no  money  to 
give  us.  We  will  earn  what  we  need  to  live  upon. 
Thus  will  we  serve  our  country.  Soon  "  —  his  heavy 
eyes  almost  lighted  up  —  "  it  may  gladly  call  upon 
us  for  help." 

Thereafter  El  Nacional  turned  out  with  the  other 
coast  craft  and  became  a  wage-earner.  She  worked 
with  the  lighters  freighting  bananas  and  oranges  out 


The  Admiral  157 

to  the  fruit  steamers  that  could  not  approach  nearer 
than  a  mile  from  the  shore.  Surely  a  self-supporting 
navy  deserves  red  letters  in  the  budget  of  any  nation. 

After  earning  enough  at  freighting  to  keep  himself 
and  his  crew  in  provisions  for  a  week  Felipe  would 
anchor  the  navy  and  hang  about  the  little  telegraph 
office,  looking  like  one  of  the  chorus  of  an  insolvent 
comic  opera  troupe  besieging  the  manager's  den. 
A  hope  for  orders  from  the  capital  was  always  in  his 
heart.  That  his  services  as  admiral  had  never  been 
called  into  requirement  hurt  his  pride  and  patriotism. 
At  every  call  he  would  inquire,  gravely  and  expect- 
antly, for  despatches.  The  operator  would  pretend 
to  make  a  search,  and  then  reply: 

"  Not  yet,  it  seems,  Senor  el  Almirante  —  poco 
tiempo  !  " 

Outside  in  the  shade  of  the  lime-trees  the  crew 
chewed  sugar  cane  or  slumbered,  well  content  to 
serve  a  country  that  was  contented  with  so  little 
service. 

One  day  in  the  early  summer  the  revolution  pre- 
dicted by  the  collector  flamed  out  suddenly.  It  had 
long  been  smouldering.     At  the  first  note  of  alarm  the 


158  Cabbages  and  Kings 

admiral  of  the  navy  force  and  fleet  made  all  sail  for 
a  larger  port  on  the  coast  of  a  neighbouring  republic, 
where  he  traded  a  hastily  collected  cargo  of  fruit  for 
its  value  in  cartridges  for  the  five  Martini  rifles,  the 
only  guns  that  the  navy  could  boast.  Then  to  the 
telegraph  office  sped  the  admiral.  Sprawling  in 
his  favourite  corner,  in  his  fast-decaying  uniform, 
with  his  prodigious  sabre  distributed  between  his  red 
legs,  he  waited  for  the  long-delayed,  but  now  soon 
expected,  orders. 

"  Not  yet,  Senor  el  Almirante"  the  telegraph  clerk 
would  call  to  him  —  " poco  tierrvpo /  " 

At  the  answer  the  admiral  would  plump  himself 
down  with  a  great  rattling  of  scabbard  to  await  the 
infrequent  tick  of  the  little  instrument  on  the  table. 

"They  will  come,"  would  be  his  unshaken  reply; 
"  I  am  the  admiral." 


CHAPTER   NINE 
The  Flag  Paramount 

i\T  the  head  of  the  insurgent  party  appeared  that 
Hector  and  learned  Theban  of  the  southern  re- 
publics, Don  Sabas  Placido.  A  traveller,  a  soldier, 
a  poet,  a  scientist,  a  statesman  and  a  connoisseur  — 
the  wonder  was  that  he  could  content  himself  with 
the  petty,  remote  life  of  his  native  country. 

"It  is  a  whim  of  Placido's,"  said  a  friend  who 
knew  him  well,  "  to  take  up  political  intrigue.  It  is 
not  otherwise  than  as  if  he  had  come  upon  a  new 
tempo  in  music,  a  new  bacillus  in  the  air,  a  new  scent, 
or  rhyme,  or  explosive.  He  will  squeeze  this  revolu- 
tion dry  of  sensations,  and  a  week  afterward  will 
forget  it,  skimming  the  seas  of  the  world  in  his 
brigantine  to  add  to  his  already  world-famous  col- 


160  Cabbages  and  Kings 

lections.  Collections  of  what  ?  Por  Dios  1  of  every- 
thing from  postage  stamps  to  prehistoric  stone 
idols." 

But,  for  a  mere  dilettante,  the  aesthetic  Placido 
seemed  to  be  creating  a  lively  row.  The  people 
admired  him;  they  were  fascinated  by  his  brilliancy 
and  flattered  by  his  taking  an  interest  in  so  small  a 
thing  as  his  native  country.  They  rallied  to  the  call 
of  his  lieutenants  in  the  capital,  where  (somewhat 
contrary  to  arrangements)  the  army  remained  faith- 
ful to  the  government.  There  was  also  lively  skir- 
mishing in  the  coast  towns.  It  was  rumoured  that 
the  revolution  was  aided  by  the  Vesuvius  Fruit  Com- 
pany, the  power  that  forever  stood  with  chiding  smile 
and  uplifted  finger  to  keep  Anchuria  in  the  class  of 
good  children.  Two  of  its  steamers,  the  Traveler 
and  the  Salvador,  were  known  to  have  conveyed  in- 
surgent troops  from  point  to  point  along  the  coast. 

As  yet  there  had  been  no  actual  uprising  in  Co- 
ralio.  Military  law  prevailed,  and  the  ferment  was 
bottled  for  the  time.  And  then  came  the  word  that 
everywhere  the  revolutionists  were  encountering  de- 
feat.    In  the  capital  the  president's  forces  triumphed ; 


The  Flag  Paramount  161 

and  there  was  a  rumour  that  the  leaders  of  the  revolt 
had  been  forced  to  fly,  hotly  pursued. 

In  the  little  telegraph  office  at  Coralio  there  was 
always  a  gathering  of  officials  and  loyal  citizens, 
awaiting  news  from  the  seat  of  government.  One 
morning  the  telegraph  key  began  clicking,  and  pres- 
ently the  operator  called,  loudly :  "  One  telegram  for 
el  Almirante,  Don  Senor  Felipe  Carrera!" 

There  was  a  shuffling  sound,  a  great  rattling  of  tin 
scabbard,  and  the  admiral,  prompt  at  his  spot  of 
waiting,  leaped  across  the  room  to  receive  it. 

The  message  was  handed  to  him.  Slowly  spelling 
it  out,  he  found  it  to  be  his  first  official  order  —  thus 
running : 

"Proceed  immediately  with  your  vessel  to  mouth 
of  Rio  Ruiz;  transport  beef  and  provisions  to  bar- 
racks at  Alforan.  Martinez,  General." 

Small  glory,  to  be  sure,  in  this,  his  country's  first 
call.  But  it  had  called,  and  joy  surged  in  the  ad- 
miral's breast.  He  drew  his  cutlass  belt  to  another 
buckle  hole,  roused  his  dozing  crew,  and  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  El  Nacional  was  tacking  swiftly  down 
coast  in  a  stiff  landward  breeze. 


162  Cabbages  and  Kings 

The  Rio  Ruiz  is  a  small  river,  emptying  into  the 
sea  ten  miles  below  Coralio.  That  portion  of  the 
coast  is  wild  and  solitary.  Through  a  gorge  in  the 
Cordilleras  rushes  the  Rio  Ruiz,  cold  and  bubbling, 
to  glide,  at  last,  with  breadth  and  leisure,  through 
an  alluvial  morass  into  the  sea. 

In  two  hours  El  Nacional  entered  the  river's 
mouth.  The  banks  were  crowded  with  a  disposition 
of  formidable  trees.  The  sumptuous  undergrowth 
of  the  tropics  overflowed  the  land,  and  drowned  itself 
in  the  fallow  waters.  Silently  the  sloop  entered 
there,  and  met  a  deeper  silence.  Brilliant  with 
greens  and  ochres  and  floral  scarlets,  the  umbrageous 
mouth  of  the  Rio  Ruiz  furnished  no  sound  or  move- 
ment save  of  the  sea-going  water  as  it  purled  against 
the  prow  of  the  vessel.  Small  chance  there  seemed 
of  wresting  beef  or  provisions  from  that  empty  soli- 
tude. 

The  admiral  decided  to  cast  anchor,  and,  at  the 
chain's  rattle,  the  forest  was  stimulated  to  instant 
and  resounding  uproar.  The  mouth  of  the  Rio 
Ruiz  had  only  been  taking  a  morning  nap.  Parrots 
and  baboons  screeched  and  barked  in  the  trees;  a 


The  Flag  Paramount  163 

whirring  and  a  hissing  and  a  booming  marked  the 
awakening  of  animal  life;  a  dark  blue  bulk  was 
visible  for  an  instant,  as  a  startled  tapir  fought  his 
way  through  the  vines. 

The  navy,  under  orders,  hung  in  the  mouth  of  the 
little  river  for  hours.  The  crew  served  the  dinner  of 
shark's  fin  soup,  plantains,  crab  gumbo  and  sour 
wine.  The  admiral,  with  a  three-foot  telescope, 
closely  scanned  the  impervious  foliage  fifty  yards 
away. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  a  reverberating  "  hallo- 
o-o ! "  came  from  the  forest  to  their  left.  It  was  an- 
swered; and  three  men,  mounted  upon  mules,  crashed 
through  the  tropic  tangle  to  within  a  dozen  yards  of 
the  river's  bank.  There  they  dismounted;  and  one, 
unbuckling  his  belt,  struck  each  mule  a  violent  blow 
with  his  sword  scabbard,  so  that  they,  with  a  fling 
of  heels,  dashed  back  again  into  the  forest. 

Those  were  strange-looking  men  to  be  conveying 
beef  and  provisions.  One  was  a  large  and  exceed- 
ingly active  man,  of  striking  presence.  He  was  of 
the  purest  Spanish  type,  with  curling,  gray-besprin- 
kled, dark  hair,  blue,  sparkling  eyes,  and  the  pro- 


164  Cabbages  and  Kings 

nounced  air  of  a  caballero  grande.  The  other  two 
were  small,  brown-faced  men,  wearing  white  mili- 
tary uniforms,  high  riding  boots  and  swords.  The 
clothes  of  all  were  drenched,  bespattered  and  rent 
by  the  thicket.  Some  stress  of  circumstance  must 
have  driven  them,  diable  h  quatre,  through  flood, 
mire  and  jungle. 

"O-hel  Sefior  Almirante"  called  the  large  man. 
"Send  to  us  your  boat." 

The  dory  was  lowered,  and  Felipe,  with  one  of  the 
Caribs,  rowed  toward  the  left  bank. 

The  large  man  stood  near  the  water's  brink,  waist 
deep  in  the  curling  vines.  As  he  gazed  upon  the 
scarecrow  figure  in  the  stern  of  the  dory  a  sprightly 
interest  beamed  upon  his  mobile  face. 

Months  of  wageless  and  thankless  service  had 
dimmed  the  admiral's  splendour.  His  red  trousers 
were  patched  and  ragged.  Most  of  the  bright  but- 
tons and  yellow  braid  were  gone  from  his  jacket. 
The  visor  of  his  cap  was  torn,  and  depended  almost 
to  his  eyes.     The  admiral's  feet  were  bare. 

"Dear  admiral,"  cried  the  large  man,  and  his 
voice  was  like  a  blast  from  a  horn,  "  I  kiss  your  hands. 


The  Flag  Paramount  165 

I  knew  we  could  build  upon  your  fidelity.  You  had 
our  despatch  —  from  General  Martinez.  A  little 
nearer  with  your  boat,  dear  Admiral.  Upon  these 
devils  of  shifting  vines  we  stand  with  the  smallest 
security." 

Felipe  regarded  him  with  a  stolid  face. 

"  Provisions  and  beef  for  the  barracks  at  Alforan," 
he  quoted. 

"No  fault  of  the  butchers,  Almirante  mio,  that 
the  beef  awaits  you  not.  But  you  are  come  in  time 
to  save  the  cattle.  Get  us  aboard  your  vessel,  senor, 
at  once.  You  first,  caballeros  —  a  priesa  1  Come 
back  for  me.     The  boat  is  too  small." 

The  dory  conveyed  the  two  officers  to  the  sloop, 
and  returned  for  the  large  man. 

"  Have  you  so  gross  a  thing  as  food,  good  admi- 
ral ?  "  he  cried,  when  aboard.  "  And,  perhaps,  coffee  ? 
Beef  and  provisions !  N ombre  de  Dios  !  a  little  longer 
and  we  could  have  eaten  one  of  those  mules  that  you, 
Colonel  Rafael,  saluted  so  feelingly  with  your  sword 
scabbard  at  parting.  Let  us  have  food ;  and  then  we 
will  sail  —  for  the  barracks  at  Alforan  —  no  ?  " 

The  Caribs  prepared  a  meal,  to  which  the  three 


166  Cabbages  and  Kings 

passengers  of  El  National  set  themselves  with  fam- 
ished delight.  About  sunset,  as  was  its  custom,  the 
breeze  veered  and  swept  back  from  the  mountains, 
cool  and  steady,  bringing  a  taste  of  the  stagnant 
lagoons  and  mangrove  swamps  that  guttered  the  low- 
lands. The  mainsail  of  the  sloop  was  hoisted  and 
swelled  to  it,  and  at  that  moment  they  heard  shouts 
and  a  waxing  clamour  from  the  bosky  profundities 
of  the  shore. 

"  The  butchers,  my  dear  admiral, "  said  the  large 
man,  smiling,  "  too  late  for  the  slaughter. " 

Further  than  his  orders  to  his  crew,  the  admiral 
was  saying  nothing.  The  topsail  and  jib  were 
spread,  and  the  sloop  glided  out  of  the  estuary.  The 
large  man  and  his  companions  had  bestowed  them- 
selves with  what  comfort  they  could  about  the  bare 
deck.  Belike,  the  thing  big  in  their  minds  had  been 
their  departure  from  that  critical  shore ;  and  now  that 
the  hazard  was  so  far  reduced  their  thoughts  were 
loosed  to  the  consideration  of  further  deliverance.  But 
when  they  saw  the  sloop  turn  and  fly  up  coast  again 
they  relaxed,  satisfied  with  the  course  the  admiral 
had  taken. 


The  Flag  Paramount  167 

The  large  man  sat  at  ease,  his  spirited  blue  eye  en- 
gaged in  the  contemplation  of  the  navy's  commander. 
He  was  trying  to  estimate  this  sombre  and  fantastic 
lad,  whose  impenetrable  stolidity  puzzled  him.  Him- 
self a  fugitive,  his  life  sought,  and  chafing  under  the 
smart  of  defeat  and  failure,  it  was  characteristic  of 
him  to  transfer  instantly  his  interest  to  the  study  of  a 
thing  new  to  him.  It  was  like  him,  too,  to  have  con- 
ceived and  risked  all  upon  this  last  desperate  and  mad- 
cap scheme — this  message  to  a  poor,  crazed  janatico 
cruising  about  with  his  grotesque  uniform  and  his  far- 
cical title.  But  his  companions  had  been  at  their 
wits'  end;  escape  had  seemed  incredible;  and  now 
he  was  pleased  with  the  success  of  the  plan  they  had 
called  crack-brained  and  precarious. 

The  brief,  tropic  twilight  seemed  to  slide  swiftly 
into  the  pearly  splendour  of  a  moonlit  night.  And 
now  the  lights  of  Coralio  appeared,  distributed  against 
the  darkening  shore  to  their  right.  The  admiral 
stood,  silent,  at  the  tiller;  the  Caribs,  like  black  pan- 
thers, held  the  sheets,  leaping  noiselessly  at  his  short 
commands.  The  three  passengers  were  watching 
intently  the  sea  before  them,  and  when  at  length  they 


168  Cabbages  and  Kings 

came  in  sight  of  the  bulk  of  a  steamer  lying  a  mile  out 
from  the  town,  with  her  lights  radiating  deep  into  the 
water,  they  held  a  sudden  voluble  and  close-headed 
converse.  The  sloop  was  speeding  as  if  to  strike  mid- 
way between  ship  and  shore. 

The  large  man  suddenly  separated  from  his  com- 
panions and  approached  the  scarecrow  at  the  helm. 

(i  My  dear  admiral, "  he  said  "  the  government  has 
been  exceedingly  remiss.  I  feel  all  the  shame  for  it 
that  only  its  ignorance  of  your  devoted  service  has 
prevented  it  from  sustaining.  An  inexcusable  over- 
sight has  been  made.  A  vessel,  a  uniform  and  a  crew 
worthy  of  your  fidelity  shall  be  furnished  you.  But 
just  now,  dear  admiral,  there  is  business  of  moment 
afoot.  The  steamer  lying  there  is  the  Salvador.  I 
and  my  friends  desire  to  be  conveyed  to  her,  where 
we  are  sent  on  the  government's  business.  Do  us 
the  favour  to  shape  your  course  accordingly. " 

Without  replying,  the  admiral  gave  a  sharp  com- 
mand, and  put  the  tiller  hard  to  port.  El  National 
swerved,  and  headed  straight  as  an  arrow's  course 
for  the  shore. 

*  Do  me  the  favour,"  said  the  large  man,  a  trifle  res- 


The  Flag  Paramount  169 

tively,  "to  acknowledge,  at  least,  that  you  catch  the 
sound  of  my  words. "  It  was  possible  that  the  fellow 
might  be  lacking  in  senses  as  well  as  intellect. 

The  admiral  emitted  a  croaking,  harsh  laugh,  and 
spake. 

"  They  will  stand  you, "  he  said,  "  with  your  face  to 
a  wall  and  shoot  you  dead.  That  is  the  way  they 
kill  traitors.  I  knew  you  when  you  stepped  into  my 
boat.  I  have  seen  your  picture  in  a  book.  You 
are  Sabas  Placido,  traitor  to  your  country.  With 
your  face  to  a  wall.  So,  you  will  die.  I  am  the 
admiral,  and  I  will  take  you  to  them.  With  your 
face  to  a  wall.     Yes. " 

Don  Sabas  half  turned  and  waved  his  hand,  with  a 
ringing  laugh,  toward  his  fellow  fugitives.  "  To  you, 
caballeros,  I  have  related  the  history  of  that  session 
when  we  issued  that  O!  so  ridiculous  commission. 
Of  a  truth  our  jest  has  been  turned  against  us. 
Behold  the  Frankenstein's  monster  we  have 
created ! " 

Don  Sabas  glanced  toward  the  shore.  The  lights 
of  Coralio  were  drawing  near.  He  could  see  the 
beach,  the  warehouse  of  the  Bodega  Nacional,  the 


170  Cabbages  and  Kings 

long,  low  cuartel  occupied  by  the  soldiers,  and,  behind 
that,  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  a  stretch  of  high 
adobe  wall.  He  had  seen  men  stood  with  their  faces 
to  that  wall  and  shot  dead. 

Again  he  addressed  the  extravagant  figure  at  the 
helm. 

"  It  is  true, "  he  said,  "  that  I  am  fleeing  the  coun- 
try. But,  receive  the  assurance  that  I  care  very  little 
for  that.  Courts  and  camps  everywhere  are  open  to 
Sabas  Placido.  Vaya  !  what  is  this  molehill  of  a  re- 
public —  this  pig's  head  of  a  country  —  to  a  man  like 
me  ?  I  am  a  paisano  of  everywhere.  In  Rome,  in 
London,  in  Paris,  in  Vienna,  you  will  hear  them  say: 
*  Welcome  back,  Don  Sabas.'  Come!  —  tonto  — 
baboon  of  a  boy  —  admiral,  whatever  you  call  your- 
self, turn  your  boat.  Put  us  on  board  the  Salvador, 
and  here  is  your  pay  —  five  hundred  pesos  in  money 
of  the  Estados  Unidos  —  more  than  your  lying 
government  will  pay  you  in  twenty  years. " 

Don  Sabas  pressed  a  plump  purse  against  the 
youth's  hand.  The  admiral  gave  no  heed  to  the 
words  or  the  movement.  Braced  against  the  helm, 
he  was  holding  the  sloop  dead  on  her  shoreward 


The  Flag  Paramount  171 

course.  His  dull  face  was  lit  almost  to  intelligence  by 
some  inward  conceit  that  seemed  to  afford  him 
joy,  and  found  utterance  in  another  parrot-like 
cackle. 

"  That  is  why  they  do  it, "  he  said  — "  so  that  you 
will  not  see  the  guns.  They  fire  —  boom !  —  and 
you  fall  dead.     With  your  face  to  the  wall.     Yes. " 

The  admiral  called  a  sudden  order  to  his  crew. 
The  lithe,  silent  Caribs  made  fast  the  sheets  they 
held,  and  slipped  down  the  hatchway  into  the  hold 
of  the  sloop.  When  the  last  one  had  disappeared, 
Don  Sabas,  like  a  big,  brown  leopard,  leaped  for- 
ward, closed  and  fastened  the  hatch  and  stood, 
smiling. 

"  No  rifles,  if  you  please,  dear  admiral, "  he  said. 
"It  was  a  whimsey  of  mine  once  to  compile  a  dic- 
tionary of  the  Carib  lengua.  So,  I  understood  your 
order.     Perhaps  now  you  will  —  " 

He  cut  short  his  words,  for  he  heard  the  dull 
"swish"  of  iron  scraping  along  tin.  The  admiral 
had  drawn  the  cutlass  of  Pedro  Lafitte,  and  was  dart- 
ing upon  him.  The  blade  descended,  and  it  was  only 
by  a  display  of  surprising  agility  that  the  large  man 


172  Cabbages  and  Kings 

escaped,  with  only  a  bruised  shoulder,  the  glancing 
weapon.  He  was  drawing  his  pistol  as  he  sprang, 
and  the  next  instant  he  shot  the  admiral  down. 

Don  Sabas  stooped  over  him,  and  rose  again. 

"In  the  heart,"  he  said  briefly.  " Senores,  the 
navy  is  abolished. " 

Colonel  Rafael  sprang  to  the  helm,  and  the  other 
officer  hastened  to  loose  the  mainsail  sheets.  The 
boom  swung  round;  El  National  veered  and  began 
to  tack  industriously  for  the  Salvador. 

"Strike  that  flag,  sefior,"  called  Colonel  Rafael. 
"  Our  friends  on  the  steamer  will  wonder  why  we  are 
sailing  under  it. " 

"  Well  said, "  cried  Don  Sabas.  Advancing  to  the 
mast  he  lowered  the  flag  to  the  deck,  where  lay  its  too 
loyal  supporter.  Thus  ended  the  Minister  of  War's 
little  piece  of  after-dinner  drollery,  and  by  the  same 
hand  that  began  it. 

Suddenly  Don  Sabas  gave  a  great  cry  of  joy,  and 
ran  down  the  slanting  deck  to  the  side  of  Colonel  Ra- 
fael. Across  his  arm  he  carried  the  flag  of  the  extin- 
guished navy. 

"Mire  I  mire  !  sefior.  Ah,  Dios  !  Already  can  I  hear 


The  Flag  Paramount  173 

that  great  bear  of  an  Oestreicher  shout,  (Du  hast  mein 
herz  gebrochenf  Mire!  Of  my  friend,  Herr  Grunitz, 
of  Vienna,  you  have  heard  me  relate.  That  man 
has  travelled  to  Ceylon  for  an  orchid  —  to  Patagonia 
for  a  headdress  —  to  Benares  for  a  slipper  —  to  Mo* 
zambique  for  a  spearhead  to  add  to  his  famous  collec- 
tions. Thou  knowest,  also,  amigo  Rafael,  that  I  have 
been  a  gatherer  of  curios.  My  collection  of  battle 
flags  of  the  world's  navies  was  the  most  complete  in 
existence  until  last  year.  Then  Herr  Grunitz  secured 
two,  O!  such  rare  specimens.  One  of  a  Barbary 
state,  and  one  of  the  Makarooroos,  a  tribe  on  the  west 
coast  of  Africa.  I  have  not  those,  but  they  can  be 
procured.  But  this  flag,  senor  —  do  you  know  what 
it  is  ?  Name  of  God !  do  you  know  ?  See  that  red 
cross  upon  the  blue  and  white  ground !  You  never  saw 
it  before  ?  Seguramente  no.  It  is  the  naval  flag  of 
your  country.  Mire!  This  rotten  tub  we  stand  upon 
is  its  navy  —  that  dead  cockatoo  lying  there  was  its 
commander  —  that  stroke  of  cutlass  and  single  pistol 
shot  a  sea  battle.  All  a  piece  of  absurd  foolery,  I 
grant  you  —  but  authentic.  There  has  never  been 
another  flag  like  this,  and  there  never  will  be  another. 


174  Cabbages  and  Kings 

No.  It  is  unique  in  the  whole  world.  Yes.  Think 
of  what  that  means  to  a  collector  of  flags!  Do  you 
know,  Coronet  mio,  how  many  golden  crowns  Herr 
Grunitz  would  give  for  this  flag?  Ten  thousand, 
likely.  Well,  a  hundred  thousand  would  not  buy  it. 
Beautiful  flag!  Only  flag!  Little  devil  of  a  most 
heaven-born  flag!  O-he I  old  grumbler  beyond  the 
ocean.  Wait  till  Don  Sabas  comes  again  to  the 
Konigin  Strasse.  He  will  let  you  kneel  and  touch  the 
folds  of  it  with  one  finger.  O-he  1  old  spectacled  ran- 
sacker of  the  world ! " 

Forgotten  was  the  impotent  revolution,  the  danger, 
the  loss,  the  gall  of  defeat.  Possessed  solely  by  the 
inordinate  and  unparalleled  passion  of  the  collector, 
he  strode  up  and  down  the  little  deck,  clasping  to  his 
breast  with  one  hand  the  paragon  of  a  flag.  He  snap- 
ped his  fingers  triumphantly  toward  the  east.  He 
shouted  the  paean  to  his  prize  in  trumpet  tones,  as 
though  he  would  make  old  Grunitz  hear  in  his  musty 
den  beyond  the  sea. 

They  were  waiting,  on  the  Salvador,  to  welcome 
them.  The  sloop  came  close  alongside  the  steamer 
where  her  sides  were  sliced  almost  to  the  lower  deck 


The  Flag  Paramount  175 

for  the  loading  of  fruit.  The  sailors  of  the  Salvador 
grappled  and  held  her  there. 

Captain  McLeod  leaned  over  the  side. 

"  Well,  sefior,  the  jig  is  up,  I'm  told. " 

"  The  jig  is  up  ?  "  Don  Sabas  looked  perplexed  for 
a  moment.  u  That  revolution  —  ah,  yes ! "  With  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders  he  dismissed  the  matter. 

The  captain  learned  of  the  escape  and  the  im- 
prisoned crew. 

w  Caribs  ? "  he  said  ;  "  no  harm  in  them. "  He 
slipped  down  into  the  sloop  and  kicked  loose  the 
hasp  of  the  hatch.  The  black  fellows  came  tum- 
bling up,  sweating  but  grinning. 

"Hey!  black  boys!"  said  the  captain,  in  a  dialect 
•of  his  own ;  "  you  sabe,  catchy  boat  and  vamos  back 
same  place  quick. " 

They  saw  him  point  to  themselves,  the  sloop  and 
Coralio."  Yas,  yas!"  they  cried,  with  broader  grins 
and  many  nods. 

The  four  —  Don  Sabas,  the  two  officers  and  the 
captain  —  moved  to  quit  the  sloop.  Don  Sabas  lagged 
a  little  behind,  looking  at  the  still  form  of  the  late 
admiral,  sprawled  in  his  paltry  trappings. 


176  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"  Pobrecito  loco, "  he  said  softly. 

He  was  a  brilliant  cosmopolite  and  a  cognoscente  of 
high  rank;  but,  after  all,  he  was  of  the  same  race  and 
blood  and  instinct  as  this  people.  Even  as  the  simple 
paisanos  of  Coralio  had  said  it,  so  said  Don  Sabas. 
Without  a  smile,  he  looked,  and  said,  "  The  poor  little 
crazed  one!" 

Stooping  he  raised  the  limp  shoulders,  drew  the 
priceless  and  induplicable  flag  under  them  and  over 
the  breast,  pinning  it  there  with  the  diamond  star  of 
the  Order  of  San  Carlos  that  he  took  from  the  collar 
of  his  own  coat. 

He  followed  after  the  others,  and  stood  with  them 
upon  the  deck  of  the  Salvador.  The  sailors  that 
steadied  El  Nacional  shoved  her  off.  The  jabbering 
Caribs  hauled  away  at  the  rigging;  the  sloop  headed 
for  the  shore. 

And  Herr  Grunitz's  collection  of  naval  flags  was 
still  the  finest  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER    TEN 

The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm 


v^NE  night  when  there  was  no  breeze,  and  Co- 
ralio  seemed  closer  than  ever  to  the  gratings  of 
Avernus,  five  men  were  grouped  about  the  door  of 
the  photograph  establishment  of  Keogh  and  Clancy. 
Thus,  in  all  the  scorched  and  exotic  places  of  the 
earth,  Caucasians  meet  when  the  day's  work  is  done 
to  preserve  the  fulness  of  their  heritage  by  the  asper- 
sion of  alien  things. 

Johnny  Atwood  lay  stretched  upon  the  grass  in  the 
undress  uniform  of  a  Carib,  and  prated  feebly  of  cool 
water  to  be  had  in  the  cucumber-wood  pumps  of 
Dalesburg.  Dr.  Gregg,  through  the  prestige  of  his 
whiskers  and  as  a  bribe  against  the  relation  of  his  im- 
minent professional  tales,  was  conceded  the  hammock 


178  Cabbages  and  Kings 

that  was  swung  between  the  door  jamb  and  a  cala- 
bash-tree. Keogh  had  moved  out  upon  the  grass  a 
little  table  that  held  the  instrument  for  burnishing 
completed  photographs.  He  was  the  only  busy  one 
of  the  group.  Industriously  from  between  the  cylin- 
ders of  the  burnisher  rolled  the  finished  depictments 
of  Coralio's  citizens.  Blanchard,  the  French  mining 
engineer,  in  his  cool  linen  viewed  the  smoke  of  his  cig- 
arette through  his  calm  glasses,  impervious  to  the 
heat.  Clancy  sat  on  the  steps,  smoking  his  short  pipe. 
His  mood  was  the  gossip's ;  the  others  were  reduced, 
by  the  humidity,  to  the  state  of  disability  desirable  in 
an  audience. 

Clancy  was  an  American  with  an  Irish  diathesis 
and  cosmopolitan  proclivities.  Many  businesses  had 
claimed  him,  but  not  for  long.  The  roadster's  blood 
was  in  his  veins.  The  voice  of  the  tintype  was  but 
one  of  the  many  callings  that  had  wooed  him  upon  so 
many  roads.  Sometimes  he  could  be  persuaded  to 
oral  construction  of  his  voyages  into  the  informal  and 
egregious.  To-night  there  were  symptoms  of  divulge- 
ment  in  him. 

"'Tis   elegant  weather  for  filibusterin', "  he  vol- 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  179 
unteered.  "  It  reminds  me  of  the  time  I  struggled  to 
liberate  a  nation  from  the  poisonous  breath  of  a  ty- 
rant's clutch.  'Twas  hard  work,  'Tis  strainin'  to 
the  back  and  makes  corns  on  the  hands. " 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  ever  lent  your  sword  to  an 
oppressed  people,"  murmured  Atwood,  from  the 
grass. 

"I  did,"  said  Clancy;  "and  they  turned  it  into  a 
ploughshare. " 

"  What  country  was  so  fortunate  as  to  secure  your 
aid  ?  "  airily  inquired  Blanchard. 

"Where's  Kamchatka?"  asked  Clancy,  with 
seeming  irrelevance. 

"Why,  off  Siberia  somewhere  in  the  Arctic  re- 
gions, "  somebody  answered,  doubtfully. 

"  I  thought  that  was  the  cold  one, "  said  Clancy, 
with  a  satisfied  nod.  "I'm  always  gettin'  the  two 
names  mixed.  'Twas  Guatemala,  then  —  the  hot 
one  —  I've  been  filibusterin'  with.  Ye'll  find  that 
country  on  the  map.  'Tis  in  the  district  known  as 
the  tropics.  By  the  foresight  of  Providence,  it  lies  on 
the  coast  so  the  geography  man  could  run  the  names 
of  the  towns  off  into  the  water.   They're  an  inch  long, 


180  Cabbages  and  Kings 

small  type,  composed  of  Spanish  dialects,  and,  'tis  my 
opinion,  of  the  same  system  of  syntax  that  blew  up  the 
Maine.  Yes,  'twas  that  country  I  sailed  against,  sin- 
gle-handed, and  endeavoured  to  liberate  it  from  a 
tyrannical  government  with  a  single-barreled  pickaxe, 
unloaded  at  that.  Ye  don't  understand,  of  course. 
'Tis  a  statement  demandin'  elucidation  and  apolo- 
gies. 

"'Twas  in  New  Orleans  one  morning  about  the 
first  of  June;  I  was  standin'  down  on  the  wharf, 
lookin'  about  at  the  ships  in  the  river.  There  was  a 
little  steamer  moored  right  opposite  me  that  seemed 
about  ready  to  sail.  The  funnels  of  it  were  throwin' 
out  smoke,  and  a  gang  of  roustabouts  were  carryin' 
aboard  a  pile  of  boxes  that  was  stacked  up  on  the 
wharf.  The  boxes  were  about  two  feet  square,  and 
somethin'  like  four  feet  long,  and  they  seemed  to  be 
pretty  heavy. 

"  I  walked  over,  careless,  to  the  stack  of  boxes.  I 
saw  one  of  them  had  been  broken  in  handlin'.  'Twas 
curiosity  made  me  pull  up  the  loose  top  and  look  in- 
side. The  box  was  packed  full  of  Winchester  rifles. 
'  So,  so, '  says  I  to  myself;  *  somebody's  gettin'  a  twist 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  181 
on  the  neutrality  laws.  Somebody's  aidin'  with  mu- 
nitions of  war.  I  wonder  where  the  popguns  are 
goin'?' 

"  I  heard  somebody  cough,  and  I  turned  around. 
There  stood  a  little,  round,  fat  man  with  a  brown  face 
and  white  clothes,  a  first-class-looking  little  man,  with 
a  four-karat  diamond  on  his  finger  and  his  eye  full  of 
interrogations  and  respects.  I  judged  he  was  a  kind 
of  foreigner  —  may  be  from  Russia  or  Japan  or  the 
archipelagoes. 

" '  Hist ! '  says  the  round  man,  full  of  concealments 
and  confidences.  *  Will  the  sefior  respect  the  discov- 
eryments  he  has  made,  that  the  mans  on  the  ship 
shall  not  be  acquaint  ?  The  seiior  will  be  a  gentle- 
man that  shall  not  expose  one  thing  that  by  accident 
occur. ' 

"  '  Monseer,'  says  I — for  I  judged  him  to  be  a  kind 
of  Frenchman  — '  receive  my  most  exasperated  assur- 
ances that  your  secret  is  safe  with  James  Clancy.  Fur- 
thermore, I  will  go  so  far  as  to  remark,  Veev  la  Lib- 
erty —  veev  it  good  and  strong.  Whenever  you  hear 
of  a  Clancy  obstructin'  the  abolishment  of  existin' 
governments  you  may  notify  me  by  return  mail.' 


182  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"'The  seiior  is  good,'  says  the  dark,  fat  man, 
smilin'  under  his  black  mustache.  'Wish  you  to 
come  aboard  my  ship  and  drink  of  wine  a  glass.' 

"Bern'  a  Clancy,  in  two  minutes  me  and  the  for- 
eign man  were  seated  at  a  table  in  the  cabin  of  the 
steamer,  with  a  bottle  between  us.  I  could  hear  the 
heavy  boxes  bein'  dumped  into  the  hold.  I  judged 
that  cargo  must  consist  of  at  least  2,000  Winchesters. 
Me  and  the  brown  man  drank  the  bottle  of  stuff,  and 
he  called  the  steward  to  bring  another.  When  you 
amalgamate  a  Clancy  with  the  contents  of  a  bottle  you 
practically  instigate  secession.  I  had  heard  a  good 
deal  about  these  revolutions  in  them  tropical  localities, 
and  I  begun  to  want  a  hand  in  it. 

" '  You  goin'  to  stir  things  up  in  your  country,  ain't 
you,  monseer  ?'  says  I,  with  a  wink  to  let  him  know 
I  was  on. 

" '  Yes,  yes,'  said  the  little  man,  pounding  his  fist  on 
the  table.  '  A  change  of  the  greatest  will  occur.  Too 
long  have  the  people  been  oppressed  with  the  promises 
and  the  never-to-happen  things  to  become.  The  great 
work  it  shall  be  carry  on.  Yes.  Our  forces  shall  in 
the  capital  city  strike  of  the  soonest.     CarrambosT 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm        183 

"  *  Carrambos  is  the  word,'  says  I,  beginning  to  in- 
vest myself  with  enthusiasm  and  more  wine,  *  likewise 
veeva,  as  I  said  before.  May  the  shamrock  of  old  — 
I  mean  the  banana-vine  or  the  pie-plant,  or  whatever 
the  imperial  emblem  may  be  of  your  down-trodden 
country,  wave  forever.' 

'"A  thousand  thank-yous,'  says  the  round  man, 
'for  your  emission  of  amicable  utterances.  What 
our  cause  needs  of  the  very  most  is  mans  who  will  the 
work  do,  to  lift  it  along.  Oh,  for  one  thousands 
strong,  good  mans  to  aid  the  General  De  Vega  that  he 
shall  to  his  country  bring  those  success  and  glory!  It 
is  hard  —  oh,  so  hard  to  find  good  mans  to  help  in 
the  work.' 

"'Monseer,'  says  I,  leanin'  over  the  table  and 
graspin'  his  hand, '  I  don't  know  where  your  country 
is,  but  me  heart  bleeds  for  it.  The  heart  of  a  Clancy 
was  never  deaf  to  the  sight  of  an  oppressed  people. 
The  family  is  filibusterers  by  birth,  and  foreigners  by 
trade.  If  you  can  use  James  Clancy's  arm  and  his 
blood  in  denudin'  your  shores  of  the  tyrant's  yoke 
they're  yours  to  command.' 

"  General  De  Vega  was  overcome  with  joy  to  con- 


184  Cabbages  and  Kings 

fiscate  my  condolence  of  his  conspiracies  and  predica- 
ments. He  tried  to  embrace  me  across  the  table, 
but  his  fatness,  and  the  wine  that  had  been  in  the  bot- 
tles, prevented.  Thus  was  I  welcomed  into  the  ranks 
of  filibustery.  Then  the  general  man  told  me  his 
country  had  the  name  of  Guatemala,  and  was  the 
greatest  nation  laved  by  any  ocean  whatever  any- 
where. He  looked  at  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
from  time  to  time  he  would  emit  the  remark,  *  Ah !  big, 
strong,  brave  mans !  That  is  what  my  country  need.' 

"  General  De  Vega,  as  was  the  name  by  which  he 
denounced  himself,  brought  out  a  document  for  me  to 
sign,  which  I  did,  makin'  a  fine  flourish  and  curlycue 
with  the  tail  of  the  *  y  \ 

"'Your  passage-money,'  says  the  general,  busi- 
nesslike, 'shall  from  your  pay  be  deduct.' 

" '  Twill  not,'  says  I,  haughty.  '  I'll  pay  my  own 
passage.'  A  hundred  and  eighty  dollars  I  had  in  my 
inside  pocket,  and  'twas  no  common  filibuster  I  was 
goin'  to  be,  filibusterin'  for  me  board  and  clothes 

"  The  steamer  was  to  sail  in  two  hours,  and  I  went 
ashore  to  get  some  things  together  I  'd  need.  When  I 
came   aboard  I  showed  the  general  with  pride  the 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  185 
outfit.  'Twas  a  fine  Chinchilla  overcoat,  Arctic  over- 
shoes, fur  cap  and  earmuffs,  with  elegant  fleece-lined 
gloves  and  woolen  muffler. 

"' Carrambos !  '  says  the  little  general.  'What 
clothes  are  these  that  shall  go  to  the  tropic  ? '  And  then 
the  little  spalpeen  laughs,  and  he  calls  the  captain,  and 
the  captain  calls  the  purser,  and  they  pipe  up  the  chief 
engineer,  and  the  whole  gang  leans  against  the  cabin 
and  laughs  at  Clancy's  wardrobe  for  Guatemala. 

"  I  reflects  a  bit,  serious,  and  asks  the  general  again 
to  denominate  the  terms  by  which  his  country  is 
called.  He  tells  me,  and  I  see  then  that  'twas  the 
t'other  one,  Kamchatka,  I  had  in  mind.  Since  then 
I've  had  difficulty  in  separatin'  the  two  nations  in 
name,  climate  and  geographic  disposition. 

"I  paid  my  passage  —  twenty-four  dollars,  first 
cabin  —  and  ate  at  table  with  the  officer  crowd. 
Down  on  the  lower  deck  was  a  gang  of  second-class 
passengers,  about  forty  of  them,  seemin'  to  be  Da- 
goes and  the  like.  I  wondered  what  so  many  of 
them  were  goin'  along  for. 

"  Well,  then,  in  three  days  we  sailed  alongside  that 
Guatemala.     'Twas  a  blue  country,  and  not  yellow, 


186  Cabbages  and  Kings 

as  'tis  miscolored  on  the  map.  We  landed  at  a  town 
on  the  coast,  where  a  train  of  cars  was  waitin'  for  us 
on  a  dinky  little  railroad.  The  boxes  on  the  steamer 
were  brought  ashore  and  loaded  on  the  cars.  The 
gang  of  Dagoes  got  aboard,  too,  the  general  and  me  in 
the  front  car.  Yes,  me  and  General  De  Vega  headed 
the  revolution,  as  it  pulled  out  of  the  seaport  town. 
That  train  travelled  about  as  fast  as  a  policeman 
goin'  to  a  riot.  It  penetrated  the  most  conspicuous 
lot  of  fuzzy  scenery  ever  seen  outside  a  geography. 
We  run  some  forty  miles  in  seven  hours,  and  the 
train  stopped.  There  was  no  more  railroad.  'Twas 
a  sort  of  camp  in  a  damp  gorge  full  of  wildness  and 
melancholies.  They  was  gradin'  and  choppin'  out 
the  forests  ahead  to  continue  the  road.  '  Here/  says 
I  to  myself, '  is  the  romantic  haunt  of  the  revolution- 
ists. Here  will  Clancy,  by  the  virtue  that  is  in  a 
superior  race  and  the  inculcation  of  Fenian  tactics, 
strike  a  tremendous  blow  for  liberty. ' 

"  They  unloaded  the  boxes  from  the  train  and  be- 
gun to  knock  the  tops  off.  From  the  first  one  that 
was  open  I  saw  General  De  Vega  take  the  Winchester 
rifles  and  pass  them  around  to  a  squad  of  morbid  sol- 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  187 
diery.  The  other  boxes  was  opened  next,  and,  be- 
lieve me  or  not,  divil  another  gun  was  to  be  seen. 
Every  other  box  in  the  load  was  full  of  pickaxes  and 
spades. 

"  And  then  —  sorrow  be  upon  them  tropics  —  the 
proud  Clancy  and  the  dishonoured  Dagoes,  each  one 
of  them,  had  to  shoulder  a  pick  or  a  spade,  and  march 
away  to  work  on  that  dirty  little  railroad.  Yes ;  'twas 
that  the  Dagoes  shipped  for,  and  'twas  that  the  fili- 
busterin'  Clancy  signed  for,  though  unbeknownst  to 
himself  at  the  time.  In  after  days  I  found  out  about 
it.  It  seems  'twas  hard  to  get  hands  to  work  on  that 
road.  The  intelligent  natives  of  the  country  was  too 
lazy  to  work.  Indeed,  the  saints  know,  'twas  unnec- 
essary. By  stretchin'  out  one  hand,  they  could  seize 
the  most  delicate  and  costly  fruits  of  the  earth,  and, 
by  stretchin'  out  the  other,  they  could  sleep  for  days 
at  a  time  without  hearin'  a  seven -o'clock  whistle  or 
the  footsteps  of  the  rent  man  upon  the  stairs.  So, 
regular,  the  steamers  travelled  to  the  United  States  to 
seduce  labour.  Usually  the  imported  spade-slingers 
died  in  two  or  three  months  from  eatin'  the  over-ripe 
water  and   breathin'   the  violent  tropical   scenery. 


188  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Wherefore  they  made  them  sign  contracts  for  a  year, 
when  they  hired  them,  and  put  an  armed  guard 
over  the  poor  divils  to  keep  them  from  runnin'  away. 

"  'Twas  thus  I  was  double-crossed  by  the  tropics 
through  a  family  f  ailin'  of  goin*  out  of  the  way  to  hunt 
disturbances. 

"  They  gave  me  a  pick,  and  I  took  it,  meditatin'  an 
insurrection  on  the  spot;  but  there  was  the  guards 
handlin'  the  Winchesters  careless,  and  I  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  discretion  was  the  best  part  of  filibus- 
terin\  There  was  about  a  hundred  of  us  in  the  gang 
startin'  out  to  work,  and  the  word  was  given  to  move. 
I  steps  out  of  the  ranks  and  goes  up  to  that  General 
De  Vega  man,  who  was  smokin'  a  cigar  and  gazin* 
upon  the  scene  with  satisfactions  and  glory.  He 
smiles  at  me  polite  and  devilish.  '  Plenty  work,'  says 
he,  for  big,  strong  mans  in  Guatemala.  Yes.  T'irty 
dollars  in  the  month.  Good  pay.  Ah,  yes.  You 
strong,  brave  man.  Bimeby  we  push  those  railroad 
in  the  capital  very  quick.  They  want  you  go  work 
now.     Adios,  strong  mans.' 

'* '  Monseer,'  says  I,  lingerin',  *  will  you  tell  a  poor 
little  Irishman  this:   When  I  set  foot  on  your  cock- 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  189 
roachy  steamer,  and  breathed  liberal  and  revolution- 
ary sentiments  into  your  sour  wine,  did  you  think  I 
was  conspirin'  to  sling  a  pick  on  your  contemptuous 
little  railroad  ?  And  when  you  answered  me  with  pat- 
riotic recitations,  humping  up  the  star-spangled 
cause  of  liberty,  did  you  have  meditations  of  reducin' 
me  to  the  ranks  of  the  stump-grubbin'  Dagoes 
in  the  chain-gangs  of  your  vile  and  grovelin' 
country  ? ' 

"The  general  man  expanded  his  rotundity  and 
laughed  considerable.  Yes,  he  laughed  very  long 
and  loud,  and  I,  Clancy,  stood  and  waited. 

"'Comical  mans!'  he  shouts,  at  last.  'So  you 
will  kill  me  from  the  laughing.  Yes;  it  is  hard  to 
find  the  brave,  strong  mans  to  aid  my  country.  Rev- 
olutions ?  Did  I  speak  of  r-r-revolutions  ?  Not  one 
word.  I  say,  big,  strong  mans  is  need  in  Guatemala. 
So.  The  mistake  is  of  you.  You  have  looked  in  those 
one  box  containing  those  gun  for  the  guard.  You 
think  all  boxes  is  contain  gun  ?    No. 

"'There  is  not  war  in  Guatemala.  But  work? 
Yes.  Good.  T'irty  dollar  in  the  month.  You  shall 
shoulder  one  pickaxe,  sefior,  and  dig  for  the  liberty 


190  Cabbages  and  Kings 

and  prosperity  of  Guatemala.  Off  to  your  work. 
The  guard  waits  for  you.' 

"  *  Little,  fat,  poodle  dog  of  a  brown  man,'  says  I, 
quiet,  but  full  of  indignations  and  discomforts,  *  things 
shall  happen  to  you.  Maybe  not  right  away,  but  as 
soon  as  J.  Clancy  can  formulate  somethin'  in  the  way 
of  repartee.' 

"  The  boss  of  the  gang  orders  us  to  work.  I  tramps 
off  with  the  Dagoes,  and  I  hears  the  distinguished 
patriot  and  kidnapper  laughin'  hearty  as  we  go. 

"  'Tis  a  sorrowful  fact,  for  eight  weeks  I  built  rail- 
roads for  that  misbehavin'  country.  I  filibustered 
twelve  hours  a  day  with  a  heavy  pick  and  a  spade, 
choppin'  away  the  luxurious  landscape  that  grew  up- 
on the  right  of  way.  We  worked  in  swamps  that 
smelled  like  there  was  a  leak  in  the  gas  mains,  tramp- 
in'  down  a  fine  assortment  of  the  most  expensive  hot- 
house plants  and  vegetables.  The  scene  was  tropi- 
cal beyond  the  wildest  imagination  of  the  geography 
man.  The  trees  was  all  sky-scrapers;  the  under- 
brush was  full  of  needles  and  pins;  there  was  mon- 
keys jumpin'  around  and  crocodiles  and  pink-tailed 
mockin'-birds,  and  ye  stood  knee-deep  in  the  rotten 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  191 
water  and  grabbled  roots  for  the  liberation  of  Guate- 
mala. Of  nights  we  would  build  smudges  in  camp 
to  discourage  the  mosquitoes,  and  sit  in  the  smoke, 
with  the  guards  pacin'  all  around  us.  There  was  two 
hundred  men  workin'  on  the  road  —  mostly  Dagoes, 
nigger-men,  Spanish-men  and  Swedes.  Three  or 
four  were  Irish. 

"  One  old  man  named  Halloran  —  a  man  of  Hiber- 
nian entitlements  and  discretions,  explained  it  to  me. 
He  had  been  workin'  on  the  road  a  year.  Most  of 
them  died  in  less  than  six  months.  He  was  dried  up 
to  gristle  and  bone,  and  shook  with  chills  every  third 
night. 

"'When  you  first  come/  says  he,  ye  think  ye'll 
leave  right  away.  But  they  hold  out  your  first 
month's  pay  for  your  passage  over,  and  by  that  time 
the  tropics  has  its  grip  on  ye.  Ye' re  surrounded 
by  a  ragin'  forest  full  of  disreputable  beasts  —  lions 
and  baboons  and  anacondas  —  waitin'  to  devour  ye. 
The  sun  strikes  ye  hard,  and  melts  the  marrow  in 
your  bones.  Ye  get  similar  to  the  lettuce-eaters  the 
poetry-book  speaks  about.  Ye  forget  the  elevated 
sintiments  of  life,  such  as  patriotism,  revenge,  dis- 


192  Cabbages  and  Kings 

turbances  of  the  peace  and  the  dacint  love  of  a  clane 
shirt.  Ye  do  your  work,  and  ye  swallow  the  kerosene 
ile  and  rubber  pipestems  dished  up  to  ye  by  the  Dago 
cook  for  food.  Ye  light  your  pipeful,  and  say  to 
yoursilf,  "  Nixt  week  I'll  break  away, "  and  ye  go  to 
sleep  and  call  yersilf  a  liar,  for  ye  know  ye'll  never 
do  it.' 

" '  Who  is  this  general  man,'  asks  I, '  that  calls  him- 
self De  Vega  ?' 

" '  'Tis  the  man,'  says  Halloran,  *  who  is  tryin'  to 
complete  the  finishin'  of  the  railroad.  'Twas  the  proj- 
ect of  a  private  corporation,  but  it  busted,  and  then 
the  government  took  it  up.  De  Vegy  is  a  big  poli- 
tician, and  wants  to  be  prisident.  The  people  want 
the  railroad  completed,  as  they're  taxed  mighty  on 
account  of  it.  The  De  Vegy  man  is  pushin'  it  along 
as  a  campaign  move.' 

"c'Tis  not  my  way,'  says  I,  'to  make  threats 
against  any  man,  but  there's  an  account  to  be  settled 
between  the  railroad  man  and  James  O'Dowd 
Clancy.' 

"  *  'Twas  that  way  I  thought,  mesilf ,  at  first,'  Hal- 
loran says,  with  a  big  sigh, '  until  I  got  to  be  a  lettuce- 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  193 
eater.  The  fault's  wid  these  tropics.  They  rejuices 
a  man's  system.  'Tis  a  land,  as  the  poet  says,  "  Where 
it  always  seems  to  be  after  dinner."  I  does  me  work 
and  smokes  me  pipe  and  sleeps.  There's  little  else  in 
life,  anyway.  Ye'll  get  that  way  yersilf ,  mighty  soon. 
Don't  be  harbourin'  any  sintiments  at  all,  Clancy.' 

"'I  can't  help  it,'  says  I;  'I'm  full  of  'em.  I  en- 
listed in  the  revolutionary  army  of  this  dark  country 
in  good  faith  to  fight  for  its  liberty,  honours  and  silver 
candlesticks ;  instead  of  which  I  am  set  to  amputatin' 
its  scenery  and  grubbin'  its  roots.  'Tis  the  general 
man  will  have  to  pay  for  it.' 

"Two  months  I  worked  on  that  railroad  before  I 
found  a  chance  to  get  away.  One  day  a  gang  of  us 
was  sent  back  to  the  end  of  the  completed  line  to  fetch 
some  picks  that  had  been  sent  down  to  Port  Barrios 
to  be  sharpened.  They  were  brought  on  a  hand-car, 
and  I  noticed,  when  I  started  away,  that  the  car  was 
left  there  on  the  track. 

"  That  night,  about  twelve,  I  woke  up  Halloran 
and  told  him  my  scheme. 

"'Run  away?'  says  Halloran.  'Good  Lord, 
Clancy,  do  ye  mean  it  ?     Why,  I  ain't  got  the  nerve. 


194  Cabbages  and  Kings 

It's  too  chilly,  and  I  ain't  slept  enough.  Run  away  ? 
I  told  you,  Clancy,  I've  eat  the  lettuce.  I've  lost  my 
grip.  'Tis  the  tropics  that's  done  it.  'Tis  like  the 
poet  says :  "  Forgotten  are  our  friends  that  we  have 
left  behind;  in  the  hollow  lettuce-land  we  will  live 
and  lay  reclined."  You  better  go  on,  Clancy.  I'll 
stay,  I  guess.  It's  too  early  and  cold,  and  I'm  sleepy.' 
"  So  I  had  to  leave  Halloran.  I  dressed  quiet,  and 
slipped  out  of  the  tent  we  were  in.  When  the  guard 
came  along  I  knocked  him  over,  like  a  ninepin,  with 
a  green  cocoanut  I  had,  and  made  for  the  railroad.  I 
got  on  that  hand-car  and  made  it  fly.  'Twas  yet  a 
while  before  daybreak  when  I  saw  the  lights  of  Port 
Barrios  about  a  mile  away.  I  stopped  the  hand-car 
there  and  walked  to  the  town.  I  stepped  inside  the 
corporations  of  that  town  with  care  and  hesitations.  I 
was  not  afraid  of  the  army  of  Guatemala,  but  me  soul 
quaked  at  the  prospect  of  a  hand-to-hand  struggle 
with  its  employment  bureau.  'Tis  a  country  that 
hires  its  help  easy  and  keeps  'em  long.  Sure  I  can 
fancy  Missis  America  and  Missis  Guatemala  passin' 
a  bit  of  gossip  some  fine,  still  night  across  the  moun- 
tains.    'Oh,  dear,'  says  Missis  America,  'and  it's  a 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  195 
lot  of  trouble  I'm  havin'  ag'in  with  the  help,  senora, 
ma'am/  'Laws,  now!'  says  Missis  Guatemala,  'you 
dont'  say  so,  ma'am !  Now,  mine  never  think  of  leav- 
in'  me — te-he!  ma'am,'  snickers  Missis  Guatemala. 

"I  was  wonderin'  how  I  was  goin'  to  move  away 
from  them  tropics  without  bein'  hired  again.  Dark 
as  it  was,  I  could  see  a  steamer  ridin'  in  the 
harbour,  with  smoke  emergin'  from  her  stacks.  I 
turned  down  a  little  grass  street  that  run  down  to 
the  water.  On  the  beach  I  found  a  little  brown 
nigger-man  just  about  to  shove  off  in  a  skiff. 

" '  Hold  on,  Sambo,'  says  I, '  savve  English  ? ' 

" '  Heap  plenty,  yes, '  says  he,  with  a  pleasant  grin. 

"  'What  steamer  is  that  ? '  I  asks  him, '  and  where 
is  it  going  ?  And  what's  the  news,  and  the  good  word 
and  the  time  of  day  ? ' 

'"That  steamer  the  Conchita,'  said  the  brown 
man,  affable  and  easy,  rollin'  a  cigarette.  'Him 
come  from  New  Orleans  for  load  banana.  Him  got 
load  last  night.  I  think  him  sail  in  one,  two  hour. 
Verree  nice  day  we  shall  be  goin'  have.  You  hear 
some  talkee  'bout  big  battle,  maybe  so  ?  You  think 
catchee  General  De  Vega,  sefior  ?     Yes  ?  No  ? ' 


196  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"'How's  that,  Sambo?'  says  I,  'Big  battle? 
What  battle  ?  Who  wants  catchee  General  De  Vega  ? 
I've  been  up  at  my  gold  mines  in  the  interior  for  a 
couple  of  months,  and  haven't  heard  any  news.' 

"'Oh,'  says  the  nigger-man,  proud  to  speak  the 
English,  'verree  great  revolution  in  Guatemala  one 
week  ago.  General  De  Vega,  him  try  be  president. 
Him  raise  armee  —  one  —  five  —  ten  thousand  mans 
for  fight  at  the  government.  Those  one  govern- 
ment send  five  —  forty  —  hundred  thousand  soldier 
to  suppress  revolution.  They  fight  big  battle  yester- 
day at  Lomagrande  —  that  about  nineteen  or  fifty 
mile  in  the  mountain.  That  government  soldier 
wheep  General  De  Vega  —  oh,  most  bad.  Five  hun- 
dred —  nine  hundred  —  two  thousand  of  his  mans  is 
kill.  That  revolution  is  smash  suppress  —  bust  — 
very  quick.  General  De  Vega,  him  r-r-run  away 
fast  on  one  big  mule.  Yes,  carrambos  !  The  general, 
him  r-r-run  away,  and  his  armee  is  kill.  That  gov- 
ernment soldier,  they  try  find  General  De  Vega  verree 
much.  They  want  catchee  him  for  shoot.  You 
think  they  catchee  that  general,  senor  ? ' 

" '  Saints  grant  it ! '  says  I.     '  'Twould  be  the  judg- 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  197 
ment  of  Providence  for  settin'  the  warlike  talent  of  a 
Clancy  to  gradin'  the  tropics  with  a  pick  and  shovel. 
But  'tis  not  so  much  a  question  of  insurrections  now, 
me  little  man,  as  'tis  of  the  hired-man  problem.  'Tis 
anxious  I  am  to  resign  a  situation  of  responsibility 
and  trust  with  the  white  wings  department  of  your 
great  and  degraded  country.  Row  me  in  your  little 
boat  out  to  that  steamer,  and  I'll  give  ye  five  dollars 
—  sinker  pacers  —  sinker  pacers,'  says  I,  reducin' 
the  offer  to  the  language  and  denomination  of  the 
tropic  dialects. 

M '  Cinco  pesos,9  repeats  the  little  man.  '  Five  dol- 
lee,  you  give  ? ' 

"  'Twas  not  such  a  bad  little  man.  He  had  hesita- 
tions at  first,  sayin'  that  passengers  leavin'  the  coun- 
try had  to  have  papers  and  passports,  but  at  last  he 
took  me  out  alongside  the  steamer. 

"  Day  was  just  breakin'  as  we  struck  her,  and  there 
wasn't  a  soul  to  be  seen  on  board.  The  water  was 
very  still,  and  the  nigger-man  gave  me  a  lift  from  the 
boat,  and  I  climbed  onto  the  steamer  where  her  side 
was  sliced  to  the  deck  for  loadin'  fruit.  The  hatches 
was  open,  and  I  looked  down  and  saw  the  cargo  of 


198  Cabbages  and  Kings 

bananas  that  filled  the  hold  to  within  six  feet  of 

the  top.      I  thinks  to  myself,  'Clancy,  you  better 

go  as  a  stowaway.     It's  safer.     The  steamer  men 

might  hand  you  back  to  the  employment  bureau. 

The  tropics'll  get  you,  Clancy,  if  you  don't  watch 

out.' 

"  So  I  jumps  down  easy  among  the  bananas,  and 
digs  out  a  hole  to  hide  in  among  the  bunches.  In  an 
hour  or  so  I  could  hear  the  engines  goin',  and  feel  the 
steamer  rockin',  and  I  knew  we  were  off  to  sea.  They 
left  the  hatches  open  for  ventilation,  and  pretty  soon 
it  was  light  enough  in  the  hold  to  see  fairly  well.  I 
got  to  feelin'  a  bit  hungry,  and  thought  I'd  have  a 
light  fruit  lunch,  by  way  of  refreshment.  I  creeped 
out  of  the  hole  I'd  made  and  stood  up  straight.  Just 
then  I  saw  another  man  crawl  up  about  ten  feet  away 
and  reach  out  and  skin  a  banana  and  stuff  it  into  his 
mouth.  'Twas  a  dirty  man,  black-faced  and  ragged 
and  disgraceful  of  aspect.  Yes,  the  man  was  a  ringer 
for  the  pictures  of  the  fat  Weary  Willie  in  the  funny 
papers.  I  looked  again,  and  saw  it  was  my  general 
man  —  De  Vega,  the  great  revolutionist,  mule-rider 
and  pick-axe  importer.     When  he  saw  me  the  general 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  199 
hesitated  with  his  mouth  filled  with  banana  and  his 
eyes  the  size  of  cocoanuts. 

"  *  Hist ! '  I  says.  "  Not  a  word,  or  they'll  put  us  off 
and  make  us  walk.  "Veev  la  Liberty!"'  I  adds, 
copperin'  the  sentiment  by  shovin'  a  banana  into  the 
source  of  it.  I  was  certain  the  general  wouldn't  rec- 
ognize me.  The  nefarious  work  of  the  tropics  had 
left  me  lookin'  different.  There  was  half  an  inch  of 
roan  whiskers  coverin'  me  face,  and  me  costume  was 
a  pair  of  blue  overalls  and  a  red  shirt. 

" '  How  you  come  in  the  ship,  sefior  ? '  asked  the 
general  as  soon  as  he  could  speak. 

"'By  the  back  door  —  whist!'  says  I.  "Twas  a 
glorious  blow  for  liberty  we  struck,'  I  continues :  '  but 
we  was  overpowered  by  numbers.  Let  us  accept  our 
defeat  like  brave  men  and  eat  another  banana.' 

" '  Were  you  in  the  cause  of  liberty  fightin',  senor  ? ' 
says  the  general,  sheddin'  tears  on  the  cargo. 

" '  To  the  last,'  says  I.  *  'Twas  I  led  the  last  des- 
perate charge  against  the  minions  of  the  tyrant.  But 
it  made  them  mad,  and  we  was  forced  to  retreat. 
'Twas  I,  general,  procured  the  mule  upon  which  you 
escaped.     Could  you  give  that  ripe  bunch  a  little 


200  Cabbages  and  Kings 

boost  this  way,  general  ?     It's  a  bit  out  of  my  reach. 

Thanks/ 

"'Say  you  so,  brave  patriot?'  said  the  general, 
again  weepin'.  'Ah,  Dios I  And  I  have  not  the 
means  to  reward  your  devotion.  Barely  did  I  my  life 
bring  away.  Carrambos  !  what  a  devil's  animal  was 
that  mule,  sefior!  Like  ships  in  one  storm  was  I 
dashed  about.  The  skin  on  myself  was  ripped  away 
with  the  thorns  and  vines.  Upon  the  bark  of  a  hun- 
dred trees  did  that  beast  of  the  infernal  bump,  and 
cause  outrage  to  the  legs  of  mine.  In  the  night  to 
Port  Barrios  I  came.  I  dispossess  myself  of  that 
mountain  of  mule  and  hasten  along  the  water  shore. 
I  find  a  little  boat  to  be  tied.  I  launch  myself  and 
row  to  the  steamec  I  cannot  see  any  mans  on  board, 
so  I  climbed  one  rope  which  hang  at  the  side.  I  then 
myself  hide  in  the  bananas.  Surely,  I  say,  if  the  ship 
captains  view  me,  they  shall  throw  me  again  to  those 
Guatemala.  Those  things  are  not  good.  Guate- 
mala will  shoot  General  De  Vega.  Therefore,  I  am 
hide  and  remain  silent.  Life  itself  is  glorious.  Lib- 
erty, it  is  pretty  good;  but  so  good  as  life  I  do  not 
think.' 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  201 
"  Three  days,  as  I  said,  was  the  trip  to  New  Orleans. 
The  general  man  and  me  got  to  be  cronies  of  the  deep- 
est dye.  Bananas  we  ate  until  they  were  distasteful 
to  the  sight  and  an  eyesore  to  the  palate,  but  to  ba- 
nanas alone  was  the  bill  of  fare  reduced.  At  night  I 
crawls  out,  careful,  on  the  lower  deck,  and  gets  a 
bucket  of  fresh  water. 

"  That  General  De  Vega  was  a  man  inhabited  by 
an  engorgement  of  words  and  sentences.  He  added 
to  the  monotony  of  the  voyage  by  divestin'  himself  of 
conversation.  He  believed  I  was  a  revolutionist  of 
his  own  party,  there  bein',  as  he  told  me,  a  good  many 
Americans  and  other  foreigners  in  its  ranks.  'Twas 
a  braggart  and  a  conceited  little  gabbler  it  was, 
though  he  considered  himself  a  hero.  'Twas  on  him- 
self he  wasted  all  his  regrets  at  the  failin'  of  his  plot. 
Not  a  word  did  the  little  balloon  have  to  say  about  the 
other  misbehavin'  idiots  that  had  been  shot,  or  run 
themselves  to  death  in  his  revolution. 

"  The  second  day  out  he  was  f eelin'  pretty  braggy 
and  uppish  for  a  stowed-away  conspirator  that  owed 
his  existence  to  a  mule  and  stolen  bananas.  He  was 
tellin'  me  about  the  great  railroad  he  had  been  build- 


202  Cabbages  and  Kings   • 

in\  and  he  relates  what  he  calls  a  comic  incident 
about  a  fool  Irishman  he  inveigled  from  New  Orleans 
to  sling  a  pick  on  his  little  morgue  of  a  narrow-gauge 
line.  'Twas  sorrowful  to  hear  the  little,  dirty  general 
tell  the  opprobrious  story  of  how  he  put  salt  upon  the 
tail  of  that  reckless  and  silly  bird,  Clancy.  Laugh, 
he  did,  hearty  and  long.  He  shook  with  laughm',  the 
black-faced  rebel  and  outcast,  standin'  neck-deep  in 
bananas,  without  friends  or  country. 

"  *  Ah,  senor,'  he  snickers, w  to  the  death  you  would 
have  laughed  at  that  drollest  Irish.  I  say  to  him: 
"  Strong,  big  mans  is  need  very  much  in  Guatemala." 
"  I  will  blows  strike  for  your  down-pressed  country, " 
he  say.  "  That  shall  you  do, "  I  tell  him.  Ah !  it  was 
an  Irish  so  comic.  He  sees  one  box  break  upon  the 
wharf  that  contain  for  the  guard  a  few  gun.  He 
think  there  is  gun  in  all  the  box.  But  that  is 
all  pick-axe.  Yes.  Ah!  senor,  could  you  the 
face  of  that  Irish  have  seen  when  they  set  him  to 
the  work!' 

'*  'Twas  thus  the  ex-boss  of  the  employment  bureau 
contributed  to  the  tedium  of  the  trip  with  merry  jests 
and  anecdote.     But  now  and  then  he  would  weep 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  203 
upon  the  bananas  and  make  oration  about  the  lost 
cause  of  liberty  and  the  mule. 

"  'Twas  a  pleasant  sound  when  the  steamer  bump- 
ed against  the  pier  in  New  Orleans.  Pretty  soon  we 
heard  the  pat-a-pat  of  hundreds  of  bare  feet,  and  the 
Dago  gang  that  unloads  the  fruit  jumped  on  the  deck 
and  down  into  the  hold.  Me  and  the  general  worked 
a  while  at  passin'  up  the  bunches,  and  they  thought 
we  were  part  of  the  gang.  After  about  an  hour  we 
managed  to  slip  off  the  steamer  onto  the  wharf. 

"  'Twas  a  great  honour  on  the  hands  of  an  obscure 
Clancy,  havin'  the  entertainment  of  the  representa- 
tive of  a  great  foreign  filibusterm'  power.  I  first 
bought  for  the  general  and  myself  many  long  drinks 
and  things  to  eat  that  were  not  bananas.  The  gen- 
eral man  trotted  along  at  my  side,  leavin'  all  the  ar- 
rangements to  me.  I  led  him  up  to  Lafayette  Square 
and  set  him  on  a  bench  in  the  little  park.  Cigarettes 
I  had  bought  for  him,  and  he  humped  himself  down 
on  the  seat  like  a  little,  fat,  contented  hobo.  I  look 
him  over  as  he  sets  there,  and  what  I  see  pleases  me. 
Brown  by  nature  and  instinct,  he  is  now  brindled 
with  dirt  and  dust.     Praise  to  the  mule,  his  clothes 


204  Cabbages  and  Kings 

is  mostly  strings  and  flaps.     Yes,  the  looks  of  the 

general  man  is  agreeable  to  Clancy. 

"  I  asks  him,  delicate,  if,  by  any  chance,  he  brought 
away  anybody's  money  with  him  from  Guatemala. 
He  sighs  and  humps  his  shoulders  against  the  bench. 
Not  a  cent.  All  right.  Maybe,  he  tells  me,  some  of 
his  friends  in  the  tropic  outfit  will  send  him  funds 
later.  The  general  was  as  clear  a  case  of  no  visible 
means  as  I  ever  saw. 

"  I  told  him  not  to  move  from  the  bench,  and  then  I 
went  up  to  the  corner  of  Poydras  and  Carondelet. 
Along  there  is  O'Hara's  beat.  In  five  minutes  along 
comes  O'Hara,  a  big,  fine  man,  red-faced,  with  shinin' 
buttons,  swingin'  his  club.  'Twould  be  a  fine  thing 
for  Guatemala  to  move  into  O'Hara's  precinct. 
'Twould  be  a  fine  bit  of  recreation  for  Danny  to  sup- 
press revolutions  and  uprisin's  once  or  twice  a  week 
with  his  club. 

" '  Is  5046  workin*  yet,  Danny  ?  '  says  I,  walkin' 
up  to  him. 

"'Overtime,'  says  O'Hara,  lookin'  over  me  sus- 
picious.    '  Want  some  of  it  ?  ' 

"  Fifty-forty-six  is  the  celebrated  city  ordinance  au- 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  205 
thorizin,  arrest,  conviction  and  imprisonment  of  per- 
sons that  succeed  in  concealin'  their  crimes  from  the 
police. 

"  *  Don't  ye  know  Jimmy  Clancy  ? '  says  I.  *  Ye 
pink-gilled  monster. '  So,  when  O'Hara  recognized 
me  beneath  the  scandalous  exterior  bestowed  upon 
me  by  the  tropics,  I  backed  him  into  a  doorway  and 
told  him  what  I  wanted,  and  why  I  wanted  it.  '  All 
right,  Jimmy,'  says  O'Hara.  *  Go  back  and  hold  the 
bench.     I'll  be  along  in  ten  minutes.' 

"In  that  time  O'Hara  strolled  through  Lafayette 
Square  and  spied  two  Weary  Willies  disgracin'  one  of 
the  benches.  In  ten  minutes  more  J.  Clancy  and 
General  De  Vega,  late  candidate  for  the  presidency  of 
Guatemala,  was  in  the  station  house.  The  general 
is  badly  frightened,  and  calls  upon  me  to  proclaim  his 
distinguishments  and  rank. 

" '  The  man,'  says  I  to  the  police,  *  used  to  be  a  rail- 
road man.  He's  on  the  bum  now.  'Tis  a  little  bug- 
house he  is,  on  account  of  losin'  his  job.' 

"  'Carrambos  I '  says  the  general,  fizzin'  like  a  little 
soda-water  fountain,  'you  fought,  sefior,  with  my 
forces  in  my  native  country.     Why  do  you  say  the 


206  Cabbages  and  Kings 

lies  ?    You  shall  say  I  am  the  General  De  Vega,  one 

soldier,  one  caballero  — ' 

"  '  Railroader,'  says  I  again.  '  On  the  hog.  No 
good.  Been  livin'  for  three  days  on  stolen  bananas. 
Look  at  him.     Ain't  that  enough  ? ' 

"Twenty-five  dollars  or  sixty  days,  was  what  the 
recorder  gave  the  general.  He  didn't  have  a  cent,  so 
he  took  the  time.  They  let  me  go,  as  I  knew  they 
would,  for  I  had  money  to  show,  and  O'Hara  spoke 
for  me.  Yes;  sixty  days  he  got.  'Twas  just  so  long 
that  I  slung  a  pick  for  the  great  country  of  Kam  — 
Guatemala. " 

Clancy  paused.  The  bright  starlight  showed  a 
reminiscent  look  of  happy  content  on  his  seasoned 
features.  Keogh  leaned  in  his  chair  and  gave  his 
partner  a  slap  on  his  thinly-clad  back  that  sounded 
like  the  crack  of  the  surf  on  the  sands. 

"  Tell  'em,  ye  divil, "  he  chuckled,  "  how  you  got 
even  with  the  tropical  general  in  the  way  of  agricul- 
tural manceuvrings. " 

"  Havin'  no  money, "  concluded  Clancy,  with  unc- 
tion, "  they  set  him  to  work  his  fine  out  with  a  gang 
from  the  parish  prison   clearing   Ursulines   Street. 


The  Shamrock  and  the  Palm  207 
Around  the  corner  was  a  saloon  decorated  genially 
with  electric  fans  and  cool  merchandise.  I  made 
that  me  headquarters,  and  every  fifteen  minutes  I'd 
walk  around  and  take  a  look  at  the  little  man  filibus- 
terin'  with  a  rake  and  shovel.  'Twas  just  such  a  hot 
broth  of  a  day  as  this  has  been.  And  I'd  call  at  him 
'  Hey,  monseer ! '  and  he'd  look  at  me  black,  with  the 
damp  showin'  through  his  shirt  in  places. 

"'Fat,  strong  mans,'  says  I  to  General  DeVega, 
*  is  needed  in  New  Orleans.  Yes.  To  carry  on  the 
good  work.     Carrambos!    Erin  go  bragh!'  " 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

The  Remnants  of  the  Code 


BREAKFAST  in  Coralio  was  at  eleven.  There- 
fore the  people  did  not  go  to  market  early.  The 
little  wooden  market-house  stood  on  a  patch  of 
short-trimmed  grass,  under  the  vivid  green  foliage 
of  a  bread-fruit  tree. 

Thither  one  morning  the  venders  leisurely  con- 
vened, bringing  their  wares  with  them.  A  porch  or 
platform  six  feet  wide  encircled  the  building,  shaded 
from  the  mid-morning  sun  by  the  projecting,  grass- 
thatched  roof.  Upon  this  platform  the  venders  were 
wont  to  display  their  goods  —  newly-killed  beef,  fish, 
crabs,  fruit  of  the  country,  cassava,  eggs,  dulces  and 
high,  tottering  stacks  of  native  tortillas  as  large 
around  as  the  sombrero  of  a  Spanish  grandee. 


The  Remnants  of  the  Code  209 

But  on  this  morning  they  whose  stations  lay  on  the 
seaward  side  of  the  market-house,  instead  of  spread- 
ing their  merchandise  formed  themselves  into  a  softly 
jabbering  and  gesticulating  group.  For  there  upon 
their  space  of  the  platform  was  sprawled,  asleep,  the 
unbeautiful  figure  of  "  Beelzebub  "  Blythe.  He  lay 
upon  a  ragged  strip  of  cocoa  matting,  more  than  ever 
a  fallen  angel  in  appearance.  His  suit  of  coarse  flax, 
soiled,  bursting  at  the  seams,  crumpled  into  a  thou- 
sand diversified  wrinkles  and  creases,  inclosed  him 
absurdly,  like  the  garb  of  some  effigy  that  had  been 
stuffed  in  sport  and  thrown  there  after  indignity  had 
been  wrought  upon  it.  But  firmly  upon  the  high 
bridge  of  his  nose  reposed  his  gold-rimmed  glasses, 
the  surviving  badge  of  his  ancient  glory. 

The  sun's  rays,  reflecting  quiveringly  from  the  rip- 
pling sea  upon  his  face,  and  the  voices  of  the  market- 
men  woke  "Beelzebub"  Blythe.  He  sat  up,  blink- 
ing, and  leaned  his  back  against  the  wall  of  the  mar- 
ket. Drawing  a  blighted  silk  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket,  he  assiduously  rubbed  and  burnished  his 
glasses.  And  while  doing  this  he  became  aware  that 
his  bedroom  had  been  invaded,  and  that  polite  brown 


210  Cabbages  and  Kings 

and  yellow  men  were  beseeching  him  to  vacate  in  fa- 
vour of  their  market  stuff. 

If  the  senor  would  have  the  goodness  —  a  thousand 
pardons  for  bringing  to  him  molestation  —  but  soon 
would  come  the  compradores  for  the  day's  provisions 
—  surely  they  had  ten  thousand  regrets  at  disturbing 
him! 

In  this  manner  they  expanded  to  him  the  intima- 
tion that  he  must  clear  out  and  cease  to  clog  the 
wheels  of  trade. 

Blythe  stepped  from  the  platform  with  the  air  of  a 
prince  leaving  his  canopied  couch.  He  never  quite 
lost  that  air,  even  at  the  lowest  point  of  his  fall.  It 
is  clear  that  the  college  of  good  breeding  does  not 
necessarily  maintain  a  chair  of  morals  within  its  walls. 

Blythe  shook  out  his  wry  clothing,  and  moved 
slowly  up  the  Calle  Grande  through  the  hot  sand.  He 
moved  without  a  destination  in  his  mind.  The 
little  town  was  languidly  stirring  to  its  daily  life. 
Golden-skinned  babies  tumbled  over  one  another  in 
the  grass.  The  sea  breeze  brought  him  appetite,  but 
nothing  to  satisfy  it.  Throughout  Coralio  were  its 
morning  odors  —  those  from  the  heavily  fragrant 


The  Remnants  of  the  Code  211 

tropical  flowers  and  from  the  bread  baking  in  the 
outdoor  ovens  of  clay  and  the  pervading  smoke 
of  their  fires.  Where  the  smoke  cleared,  the  crystal 
air,  with  some  of  the  efficacy  of  faith,  seemed  to 
remove  the  mountains  almost  to  the  sea,  bringing 
them  so  near  that  one  might  count  the  scarred  glades 
on  their  wooded  sides.  The  light-footed  Caribs  were 
swiftly  gliding  to  their  tasks  at  the  waterside.  Al- 
ready along  the  bosky  trails  from  the  banana  groves 
files  of  horses  were  slowly  moving,  concealed,  except 
for  their  nodding  heads  and  plodding  legs,  by  the 
bunches  of  green-golden  fruit  heaped  upon  their 
backs.  On  doorsills  sat  women  combing  their  long, 
black  hair  and  calling,  one  to  another,  across  the  nar- 
row thoroughfares.  Peace  reigned  in  Coralio  —  arid 
and  bald  peace;  but  still  peace. 

On  that  bright  morning  when  Nature  seemed  to 
be  offering  the  lotus  on  the  Dawn's  golden  platter 
*  Beelzebub  "  Blythe  had  reached  rock  bottom.  Fur- 
ther descent  seemed  impossible.  That  last  night's 
slumber  in  a  public  place  had  done  for  him.  As  long 
as  he  had  had  a  roof  to  cover  him  there  had  remained, 
unbridged,  the  space  that  separates  a  gentleman 


212  Cabbages  and  Kings 

from  the  beasts  of  the  jungle  and  the  fowls  of  the  air. 
But  now  he  was  little  more  than  a  whimpering  oyster 
led  to  be  devoured  on  the  sands  of  a  Southern  sea 
by  the  artful  walrus,  Circumstance,  and  the  impla- 
cable carpenter,  Fate. 

To  Blythe  money  was  now  but  a  memory.  He 
had  drained  his  friends  of  all  that  their  good-fellow- 
ship had  to  offer;  then  he  had  squeezed  them  to  the 
last  drop  of  their  generosity;  and  at  the  last,  Aaron- 
like, he  had  smitten  the  rock  of  their  hardening 
bosoms  for  the  scattering,  ignoble  drops  of  Charity 
itself. 

He  had  exhausted  his  credit  to  the  last  real.  With 
the  minute  keenness  of  the  shameless  sponger  he  was 
aware  of  every  source  in  Coralio  from  which  a  glass 
of  rum,  a  meal  or  a  piece  of  silver  could  be  wheedled. 
Marshalling  each  such  source  in  his  mind,  he  con- 
sidered it  with  all  the  thoroughness  and  penetration 
that  hunger  and  thirst  lent  him  for  the  task.  All  his 
optimism  failed  to  thresh  a  grain  of  hope  from  the 
chaff  of  his  postulations.  He  had  played  out  the 
game.  That  one  night  in  the  open  had  shaken  his 
nerves.     Until  then  there  had  been  left  to  him  at 


The  Remnants  of  the  Code  213 

least  a  few  grounds  upon  which  he  could  base  his 
unblushing  demands  upon  his  neighbours'  stores. 
Now  he  must  beg  instead  of  borrowing.  The 
most  brazen  sophistry  could  not  dignify  by  the  name 
of  "  loan  "  the  coin  contemptuously  flung  to  a  beach- 
comber who  slept  on  the  bare  boards  of  the  public 
market. 

But  on  this  morning  no  beggar  would  have  more 
thankfully  received  a  charitable  coin,  for  the  demon 
thirst  had  him  by  the  throat  —  the  drunkard's  matu- 
tinal thirst  that  requires  to  be  slaked  at  each  morn- 
ing station  on  the  road  to  Tophet. 

Blythe  walked  slowly  up  the  street,  keeping  a 
watchful  eye  for  any  miracle  that  might  drop  manna 
upon  him  in  his  wilderness.  As  he  passed  the  popu- 
lar eating  house  of  Madama  Vasquez,  Madama's 
boarders  were  just  sitting  down  to  freshly-baked 
bread,  aguacates,  pines  and  delicious  coffee  that  sent 
forth  odorous  guarantee  of  its  quality  upon  the  breeze. 
Madama  was  serving;  she  turned  her  shy,  stolid, 
melancholy  gaze  for  a  moment  out  the  window ;  she 
saw  Blythe,  and  her  expression  turned  more  shy  and 
embarrassed.     "  Beelzebub  "  owed  her  twenty  pesos. 


214  Cabbages  and  Kings 

He  bowed  as  he  had  once  bowed  to  less  embarrassed 

dames  to  whom  he  owed  nothing,  and  passed  on. 

Merchants  and  their  clerks  were  throwing  open 
the  solid  wooden  doors  of  their  shops.  Polite  but 
cool  were  the  glances  they  cast  upon  Blythe  as  he 
lounged  tentatively  by  with  the  remains  of  his  old 
jaunty  air;  for  they  were  his  creditors  almost  without 
exception. 

At  the  little  f outain  in  the  plaza  he  made  an  apology 
for  a  toilet  with  his  wetted  handkerchief.  Across  the 
open  square  filed  the  dolorous  line  of  friends  to  the 
prisoners  in  the  calaboza,  bearing  the  morning  meal 
of  the  immured.  The  food  in  their  hands  aroused 
small  longing  in  Blythe.  It  was  drink  that  his  soul 
craved,  or  money  to  buy  it. 

In  the  streets  he  met  many  with  whom  he  had  been 
friends  and  equals,  and  whose  patience  and  liberality 
he  had  gradually  exhausted.  Willard  Geddie  and 
Paula  cantered  past  him  with  the  coolest  of  nods, 
returning  from  their  daily  horseback  ride  along  the 
old  Indian  road.  Keogh  passed  him  at  another  cor- 
ner, whistling  cheerfully  and  bearing  a  prize  of  newly- 
laid  eggs  for  the  breakfast  of  himself  and  Clancy. 


The  Remnants  of  the  Code  215 

The  jovial  scout  of  Fortune  was  one  of  Blythe's  vic- 
tims who  had  plunged  his  hand  oftenest  into  his 
pocket  to  aid  him.  But  now  it  seemed  that  Keogh, 
too,  had  fortified  himself  against  further  invasions. 
His  curt  greeting  and  the  ominous  light  in  his  full, 
grey  eye  quickened  the  steps  of  "  Beelzebub,"  whom 
desperation  had  almost  incited  to  attempt  an  addi- 
tional "loan." 

Three  drinking  shops  the  forlorn  one  next  visited 
in  succession.  In  all  of  these  his  money,  his  credit 
and  his  welcome  had  long  since  been  spent;  but 
Blythe  felt  that  he  would  have  fawned  in  the  dust  at 
the  feet  of  an  enemy  that  morning  for  one  draught 
of  aguardiente.  In  two  of  the  pulperias  his  coura- 
geous petition  for  drink  was  met  with  a  refusal  so 
polite  that  it  stung  worse  than  abuse.  The  third 
establishment  had  acquired  something  of  American 
methods;  and  here  he  was  seized  bodily  and  cast  out 
upon  his  hands  and  knees. 

This  physical  indignity  caused  a  singular  change 
in  the  man.  As  he  picked  himself  up  and  walked 
away,  an  expression  of  absolute  relief  came  upon  his 
features.     The  specious  and  conciliatory  smile  that 


216  Cabbages  and  Kings 

had  been  graven  there  was  succeeded  by  a  look  of 
calm  and  sinister  resolve.  "Beelzebub"  had  been 
floundering  in  the  sea  of  improbity,  holding  by  a 
slender  life-line  to  the  respectable  world  that  had 
cast  him  overboard.  He  must  have  felt  that  with 
this  ultimate  shock  the  line  had  snapped,  and  have 
experienced  the  welcome  ease  of  the  drowning  swim- 
mer who  has  ceased  to  struggle. 

Blythe  walked  to  the  next  corner  and  stood  there 
while  he  brushed  the  sand  from  his  garments  and 
re-polished  his  glasses. 

"  I've  got  to  do  it  —  oh,  I've  got  to  do  it,"  he  told 
himself,  aloud.  "  If  I  had  a  quart  of  rum  I  believe 
I  could  stave  it  off  yet  —  for  a  little  while.  But 
there's  no  more  rum  for  — '  Beelzebub,'  as  they 
call  me.  By  the  flames  of  Tartarus!  if  I'm  to  sit  at 
the  right  hand  of  Satan  somebody  has  got  to  pay  the 
court  expenses.  You'll  have  to  pony  up,  Mr.  Frank 
Goodwin.  You're  a  good  fellow;  but  a  gentleman 
must  draw  the  line  at  being  kicked  into  the  gutter. 
Blackmail  isn't  a  pretty  word,  but  it's  the  next  station 
on  the  road  I'm  travelling." 

With   purpose   in   his   steps   Blythe   now   moved 


The  Remnants  of  the  Code  217 

rapidly  through  the  town  by  way  of  its  landward 
environs.  He  passed  through  the  squalid  quarters 
of  the  improvident  negroes  and  on  beyond  the  pic- 
turesque shacks  of  the  poorer  mestizos.  From  many 
points  along  his  course  he  could  see,  through  the 
umbrageous  glades,  the  house  of  Frank  Goodwin  on 
its  wooded  hill.  And  as  he  crossed  the  little  bridge 
over  the  lagoon  he  saw  the  old  Indian,  Galvez,  scrub- 
bing at  the  wooden  slab  that  bore  the  name  of  Mira- 
flores.  Beyond  the  lagoon  the  lands  of  Goodwin 
began  to  slope  gently  upward.  A  grassy  road, 
shaded  by  a  munificent  and  diverse  array  of  tropical 
flora  wound  from  the  edge  of  an  outlying  banana 
grove  to  the  dwelling.  Blythe  took  this  road  with 
long  and  purposeful  strides. 

Goodwin  was  seated  on  his  coolest  gallery,  dictat- 
ing letters  to  his  secretary,  a  sallow  and  capable 
native  youth.  The  household  adhered  to  the  Ameri- 
can plan  of  breakfast;  and  that  meal  had  been  a 
thing  of  the  past  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour. 

The  castaway  walked  to  the  steps,  and  flourished 
a  hand. 

"Good  morning,  Blythe,"  said  Goodwin,  looking 


218  Cabbages  and  Kings 

up.     "  Come  in  and  have  a  chair.     Anything  I  can 

do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  in  private. " 

Goodwin  nodded  at  his  secretary,  who  strolled  out 
under  a  mango  tree  and  lit  a  cigarette.  Blythe  took 
the  chair  that  he  had  left  vacant. 

"  I  want  some  money,"  he  began,  doggedly. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Goodwin,  with  equal  directness, 
"  but  you  can't  have  any.  You're  drinking  yourself 
to  death,  Blythe.  Your  friends  have  done  all  they 
could  to  help  you  to  brace  up.  You  won't  help 
yourself.  There's  no  use  furnishing  you  with  money 
to  ruin  yourself  with  any  longer." 

"Dear  man/'  said  Blythe,  tilting  back  his  chair, 
"it  isn't  a  question  of  social  economy  now.  It's 
past  that.  I  like  you,  Goodwin;  and  I've  come  to 
stick  a  knife  between  your  ribs.  I  was  kicked  out 
of  Espada's  saloon  this  morning;  and  Society  owes 
me  reparation  for  my  wounded  feelings." 

"I  didn't  kick  you  out." 

"No;  but  in  a  general  way  you  represent  Society; 
and  in  a  particular  way  you  represent  my  last  chance. 
I've  had  to  come  down  to  it,  old  man  —  I  tried  to  do 


The  Remnants  of  the  Code  219 

it  a  month  ago  when  Losada's  man  was  here  turning 
things  over;  but  I  couldn't  do  it  then.  Now  it's 
different.  I  want  a  thousand  dollars,  Goodwin ;  and 
you'll  have  to  give  it  to  me." 

" Only  last  week,"  said  Goodwin,  with  a  smile,  "a 
silver  dollar  was  all  you  were  asking  for." 

"  An  evidence,"  said  Blythe,  flippantly,  "  that  I  was 
still  virtuous  —  though  under  heavy  pressure.  The 
wages  of  sin  should  be  something  higher  than  a  peso 
worth  forty-eight  cents.  Let's  talk  business.  I  am 
the  villain  in  the  third  act;  and  I  must  have  my  mer- 
ited, if  only  temporary,  triumph.  I  saw  you  collar 
the  late  president's  valiseful  of  boodle.  Oh,  I  know 
it's  blackmail;  but  I'm  liberal  about  the  price.  I 
know  I'm  a  cheap  villain  —  one  of  the  regular  saw- 
mill-drama kind  —  but  you're  one  of  my  particular 
friends,  and  I  don't  want  to  stick  you  hard." 

"  Suppose  you  go  into  the  details,"  suggested  Good- 
win, calmly  arranging  his  letters  on  the  table. 

"All  right,"  said  "Beelzebub."  "I  like  the  way 
you  take  it.  I  despise  histrionics ;  so  you  will  please 
prepare  yourself  for  the  facts  without  any  red  fire, 
calcium  or  grace  notes  on  the  saxophone. 


220  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"On  the  night  that  His  Fly-by-night  Excellency 
arrived  in  town  I  was  very  drunk.  You  will  excuse 
the  pride  with  which  I  state  that  fact;  but  it  was  quite 
a  feat  for  me  to  attain  that  desirable  state.  Some- 
body had  left  a  cot  out  under  the  orange  trees  in  the 
yard  of  Madama  Ortiz's  hotel.  I  stepped  over  the 
wall,  laid  down  upon  it,  and  fell  asleep.  I  was 
awakened  by  an  orange  that  dropped  from  the  tree 
upon  my  nose ;  and  I  laid  there  for  awhile  cursing  Sir 
Isaac  Newton,  or  whoever  it  was  that  invented  gravi- 
tation, for  not  confining  his  theory  to  apples. 

"  And  then  along  came  Mr.  Miraflores  and  his  true- 
love  with  the  treasury  in  a  valise,  and  went  into  the 
hotel.  Next  you  hove  in  sight,  and  held  a  pow-wow 
with  the  tonsorial  artist  who  insisted  upon  talking 
shop  after  hours.  I  tried  to  slumber  again;  but  once 
more  my  rest  was  disturbed  —  this  time  by  the  noise 
of  the  popgun  that  went  off  upstairs.  Then  that 
valise  came  crashing  down  into  an  orange  tree  just 
above  my  head;  and  I  arose  from  my  couch,  not 
knowing  when  it  might  begin  to  rain  Saratoga  trunks. 
When  the  army  and  the  constabulary  began  to  arrive, 
with   their  medals   and    decorations  hastily  pinned 


The  Remnants  of  the  Code  221 

to  their  pajamas,  and  their  snickersnees  drawn,  I 
crawled  into  the  welcome  shadow  of  a  banana  plant. 
I  remained  there  for  an  hour,  by  which  time  the  ex- 
citement and  the  people  had  cleared  away.  And  then, 
my  dear  Goodwin  —  excuse  me  —  I  saw  you  sneak 
back  and  pluck  that  ripe  and  juicy  valise  from  the 
orange  tree.  I  followed  you,  and  saw  you  take  it 
to  your  own  house.  A  hundred-thousand-dollar  crop 
from  one  orange  tree  in  a  season  about  breaks  the 
record  of  the  fruit-growing  industry. 

"  Being  a  gentleman  at  that  time,  of  course  I  never 
mentioned  the  incident  to  anyone.  But  this  morn- 
ing I  was  kicked  out  of  a  saloon,  my  code  of  honour 
is  all  out  at  the  elbows,  and  I'd  sell  my  mother's 
prayer-book  for  three  fingers  of  aguardiente.  I'm 
not  putting  on  the  screws  hard.  It  ought  to  be  worth 
a  thousand  to  you  for  me  to  have  slept  on  that  cot 
through  the  whole  business  without  waking  up  and 
seeing  anything." 

Goodwin  opened  two  more  letters,  and  made  mem- 
oranda in  pencil  on  them.  Then  he  called  "Man- 
uel ! "  to  his  secretary,  who  came,  spryly. 

"  The  Ariel— when  does  she  sail  ?  "  asked  Goodwin. 


222  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"Senor,"  answered  the  youth,  "at  three  this  after- 
noon. She  drops  down-coast  to  Punta  Soledad  to 
complete  her  cargo  of  fruit.  From  there  she  sails  for 
New  Orleans  without  delay." 

"Buenol"  said  Goodwin.  "These  letters  may 
wait  yet  awhile." 

The  secretary  returned  to  his  cigarette  under  the 
mango  tree. 

"  In  round  numbers,"  said  Goodwin,  facing  Blythe 
squarely,  "how  much  money  do  you  owe  in  this 
town,  not  including  the  sums  you  have  *  borrowed* 
from  me  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred  —  at  a  rough  guess,"  answered 
Blythe,  lightly. 

"  Go  somewhere  in  the  town  and  draw  up  a  sched- 
ule of  your  debts,"  said  Goodwin.  "  Come  back  here 
in  two  hours,  and  I  will  send  Manuel  with  the  money 
to  pay  them.  I  will  also  have  a  decent  outfit  of  cloth- 
ing ready  for  you.  You  will  sail  on  the  Ariel  at 
three.  Manuel  will  accompany  you  as  far  as  the 
deck  of  the  steamer.  There  he  will  hand  you  one 
thousand  dollars  in  cash.  I  suppose  that  we  needn't 
discuss  what  you  will  be  expected  to  do  in  return." 


The  Remnants  of  the  Code  223 

"Oh,  I  understand,"  piped  Blythe,  cheerily.  "I 
was  asleep  all  the  time  on  the  cot  under  Madama 
Ortiz's  orange  trees;  and  I  shake  off  the  dust  of  Co- 
ralio  forever.  I'll  play  fair.  No  more  of  the  lotus 
for  me.  Your  proposition  is  O.  K.  You're  a  good 
fellow,  Goodwin;  and  I  let  you  off  light.  I'll  agree 
to  everything.  But  in  the  meantime  —  I've  a  devil 
of  a  thirst  on,  old  man  —  " 

"  Not  a  centavo,"  said  Goodwin,  firmly,  "  until  you 
are  on  board  the  Ariel.  You  would  be  drunk  in 
thirty  minutes  if  you  had  money  now." 

But  he  noticed  the  blood-streaked  eyeballs,  the  re- 
laxed form  and  the  shaking  hands  of  "  Beelzebub ; " 
and  he  stepped  into  the  dining  room  through  the  low 
window,  and  brought  out  a  glass  and  a  decanter  of 
brandy. 

"  Take  a  bracer,  anyway,  before  you  go,"  he  pro- 
posed, even  as  a  man  to  the  friend  whom  he  enter- 
tains. 

"  Beelzebub  "  Blythe's  eyes  glistened  at  the  sight  of 
the  solace  for  which  his  soul  burned.  To-day  for 
the  first  time  his  poisoned  nerves  had  been  denied 
their  steadying  dose ;  and  their  retort  was  a  mounting 


224  Cabbages  and  Kings 

torment.  He  grasped  the  decanter  and  rattled  its 
crystal  mouth  against  the  glass  in  his  trembling 
hand.  He  flushed  the  glass,  and  then  stood  erect, 
holding  it  aloft  for  an  instant.  For  one  fleeting  mo- 
ment he  held  his  head  above  the  drowning  waves  of 
his  abyss.  He  nodded  easily  at  Goodwin,  raised 
his  brimming  glass  and  murmured  a  "health"  that 
men  had  used  in  his  ancient  Paradise  Lost.  And 
then  so  suddenly  that  he  spilled  the  brandy  over  his 
hand,  he  set  down  his  glass,  untasted. 

"  In  two  hours,"  his  dry  lips  muttered  to  Goodwin, 
as  he  marched  down  the  steps  and  turned  his  face 
toward  the  town. 

In  the  edge  of  the  cool  banana  grove  "  Beelzebub  " 
halted,  and  snapped  the  tongue  of  his  belt  buckle 
into  another  hole. 

"  I  couldn't  do  it,"  he  explained,  feverishly,  to  the 
waving  banana  fronds.  "  I  wanted  to,  but  I  couldn't. 
A  gentleman  can't  drink  with  the  man  that  he  black- 
mails." 


CHAPTER    TWELVE 

Shoes 


JOHN  DE  GRAFFENREID  ATWOOD  ate  o! 

the  lotus,  root,  stem,  and  flower.  The  tropics  gob- 
bled him  up.  He  plunged  enthusiastically  into  his 
work,  which  was  to  try  to  forget  Rosine. 

Now,  they  who  dine  on  the  lotus  rarely  consume 
it  plain.  There  is  a  sauce  au  diable  that  goes  with  it; 
and  the  distillers  are  the  chefs  who  prepare  it.  And 
on  Johnny's  menu  card  it  read  "brandy."  With  a 
bottle  between  them,  he  and  Billy  Keogh  would  sit 
on  the  porch  of  the  little  consulate  at  night  and  roar 
out  great,  indecorous  songs,  until  the  natives,  slipping 
hastily  past,  would  shrug  a  shoulder  and  mutter 
things  to  themselves  about  the  "Americanos  diablos" 

One  day  Johnny's  mozo  brought  the  mail  and 


226  Cabbages  and  Kings 

dumped  it  on  the  table.  Johnny  leaned  from  his 
hammock,  and  fingered  the  four  or  five  letters  de- 
jectedly. Keogh  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  table 
chopping  lazily  with  a  paper  knife  at  the  legs  of  a 
centipede  that  was  crawling  among  the  stationery. 
Johnny  was  in  that  phase  of  lotus-eating  when  all 
the  world  tastes  bitter  in  one's  mouth. 

"Same  old  thing!"  he  complained.  "  Fool  people 
writing  for  information  about  the  country.  They 
want  to  know  all  about  raising  fruit,  and  how  to  make 
a  fortune  without  work.  Half  of  'em  don't  even 
send  stamps  for  a  reply.  They  think  a  consul  hasn't 
anything  to  do  but  write  letters.  Slit  those  envelopes 
for  me,  old  man,  and  see  what  they  want.  I'm 
feeling  too  rocky  to  move." 

Keogh,  acclimated  beyond  all  possibility  of  ill- 
humour,  drew  his  chair  to  the  table  with  smiling  com- 
pliance on  his  rose-pink  countenance,  and  began  to 
slit  open  the  letters.  Four  of  them  were  from  citi- 
zens in  various  parts  of  the  United  States  who  seemed 
to  regard  the  consul  at  Coralio  as  a  cyclopaedia  of 
information.  They  asked  long  lists  of  questions, 
numerically  arranged,  about  the  climate,  products, 


Shoes  227 

possibilities,  laws,  business  chances,  and  statistics 
of  the  country  in  which  the  consul  had  the  honour  of 
representing  his  own  government. 

"Write  'em,  please,  Billy,"  said  that  inert  official, 
"just  a  line,  referring  them  to  the  latest  consular 
report.  Tell  'em  the  State  Department  will  be  de- 
lighted to  furnish  the  literary  gems.  Sign  my  name. 
Don't  let  your  pen  scratch,  Billy;  it'll  keep  me 
awake." 

"Don't  snore,"  said  Keogh,  amiably,  "and  I'll 
do  your  work  for  you.  You  need  a  corps  of  assist- 
ants, anyhow.  Don't  see  how  you  ever  get  out  a 
report.  Wake  up  a  minute !  —  here's  one  more 
letter  —  it's  from  your  own  town,  too  —  Dalesburg." 

"  That  so  ?  "  murmured  Johnny  showing  a  mild 
and  obligatory  interest.     "  What's  it  about  ?  " 

"  Postmaster  writes,"  explained  Keogh.  "  Says  a 
citizen  of  the  town  wants  some  facts  and  advice  from 
you.  Says  the  citizen  has  an  idea  in  his  head  of 
coming  down  where  you  are  and  opening  a  shoe  store. 
Wants  to  know  if  you  think  the  business  would  pay. 
Says  he's  heard  of  the  boom  along  this  coast,  and 
wants  to  get  in  on  the  ground  floor." 


228  Cabbages  and  Kings 

In  spite  of  the  heat  and  his  bad  temper,  Johnny's 
hammock  swayed  with  his  laughter.  Keogh  laughed 
too;  and  the  pet  monkey  on  the  top  shelf  of  the  book- 
case chattered  in  shrill  sympathy  with  the  ironical 
reception  of  the  letter  from  Dalesburg. 

"  Great  bunions ! "  exclaimed  the  consul.  "  Shoe 
store!  What'll  they  ask  about  next,  I  wonder? 
Overcoat  factory,  I  reckon.  Say,  Billy  —  of  our 
3,000  citizens,  how  many  do  you  suppose  ever  had 
on  a  pair  of  shoes  ?  " 

Keogh  reflected  judicially. 

"  Let's  see  —  there's  you  and  me  and  — " 

"Not  me,"  said  Johnny,  promptly  and  incorrectly, 
holding  up  a  foot  encased  in  a  disreputable  deerskin 
zapato.  "I  haven't  been  a  victim  to  shoes  in 
months." 

"But  you've  got  'em,  though,"  went  on  Keogh. 
"And  there's  Goodwin  and  Blanchard  and  Geddie 
and  old  Lutz  and  Doc  Gregg  and  that  Italian  that's 
agent  for  the  banana  company,  and  there's  old 
Delgado  —  no;  he  wears  sandals.  And,  oh,  yes; 
there's  Madama  Ortiz,  *  what  kapes  the  hotel '  —  she 
had  on  a  pair  of  red  kid  slippers  at  the  baile  the  other 


Shoes  229 

night.  And  Miss  Pasa,  her  daughter,  that  went 
to  school  in  the  States  —  she  brought  back  some 
civilized  notions  in  the  way  of  footgear.  And  there's 
the  comandantes  sister  that  dresses  up  her  feet  on 
feast-days  —  and  Mrs.  Geddie,  who  wears  a  two 
with  a  Castilian  instep  —  and  that's  about  all  the 
ladies.  Let's  see  —  don't  some  of  the  soldiers  at  the 
cuartel — no:  that's  so;  they're  allowed  shoes  only 
when  on  the  march.  In  barracks  they  turn  their 
little  toeses  out  to  grass." 

"'Bout  right,"  agreed  the  consul.  "Not  over 
twenty  out  of  the  three  thousand  ever  felt  leather  on 
their  walking  arrangements.  Oh,  yes;  Coralio  is 
just  the  town  for  an  enterprising  shoe  store  —  that 
doesn't  want  to  part  with  its  goods.  Wonder  if  old 
Patterson  is  trying  to  jolly  me !  He  always  was  full 
of  things  he  called  jokes.  Write  him  a  letter,  Billy. 
I'll  dictate  it.     We'll  jolly  him  back  a  few." 

Keogh  dipped  his  pen,  and  wrote  at  Johnny's  dic- 
tation. With  many  pauses,  filled  in  with  smoke  and 
sundry  travellings  of  the  bottle  and  glasses,  the  fol- 
lowing reply  to  the  Dalesburg  communication  was 
perpetrated : 


230  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Mr.  Obadiah  Patterson, 
Dalesburg,  Ala. 

Dear  Sir :  In  reply  to  your  favour  of  July  2d,  I 
have  the  honour  to  inform  you  that,  according  to  my 
opinion,  there  is  no  place  on  the  habitable  globe  that 
presents  to  the  eye  stronger  evidence  of  the  need  of 
a  first-class  shoe  store  than  does  the  town  of  Coralio. 
There  are  3,000  inhabitants  in  the  place,  and  not  a 
single  shoe  store!  The  situation  speaks  for  itself. 
This  coast  is  rapidly  becoming  the  goal  of  enterpris- 
ing business  men,  but  the  shoe  business  is  one  that 
has  been  sadly  overlooked  or  neglected.  In  fact, 
there  are  a  considerable  number  of  our  citizens  ac- 
tually without  shoes  at  present. 

Besides  the  want  above  mentioned,  there  is  also  a 
crying  need  for  a  brewery,  a  college  of  higher  mathe- 
matics, a  coal  yard,  and  a  clean  and  intellectual 
Punch  and  Judy  show.     I  have  the  honour  to  be,  sir, 
Your  Obt.  Servant, 
John  De  Graffenreid  Atwood, 

U.  S.  Consul  at  Coralio. 

P.  S.— Hello !  Uncle  Obadiah.  How's  the  old  burg 
racking  along?  What  would  the  government  do 
without  you  and  me  ?  Look  out  for  a  green-headed 
parrot  and  a  bunch  of  bananas  soon,  from  your  old 
friend  Johnny. 


Shoes  231 

"  I  throw  in  that  postscript,"  explained  the  consul, 
"  so  Uncle  Obadiah  won't  take  offence  at  the  official 
tone  of  the  letter!  Now,  Billy,  you  get  that  corre- 
spondence fixed  up,  and  send  Pancho  to  the  post-office 
with  it.  The  Ariadne  takes  the  mail  out  to-morrow 
if  they  make  up  that  load  of  fruit  to-day." 

The  night  programme  in  Coralio  never  varied. 
The  recreations  of  the  people  were  soporific  and  flat. 
They  wandered  about,  barefoot  and  aimless,  speak- 
ing lowly  and  smoking  cigar  or  cigarette.  Looking 
down  on  the  dimly  lighted  ways  one  seemed  to  see 
a  threading  maze  of  brunette  ghosts  tangled  with  a 
procession  of  insane  fireflies.  In  some  houses  the 
thrumming  of  lugubrious  guitars  added  to  the  de- 
pression of  the  triste  night.  Giant  tree-frogs  rattled 
in  the  foliage  as  loudly  as  the  end  man's  "  bones  "  in 
a  minstrel  troupe.  By  nine  o'clock  the  streets  were 
almost  deserted. 

Nor  at  the  consulate  was  there  often  a  change  of 
bill.  Keogh  would  come  there  nightly,  for  Coralio's 
one  cool  place  was  the  little  seaward  porch  of  that 
official  residence. 

The  brandy  would  be  kept  moving;  and  before 


232  Cabbages  and  Kings 

midnight  sentiment  would  begin  to  stir  in  the  heart 
of  the  self-exiled  consul.  Then  he  would  relate  to 
Keogh  the  story  of  his  ended  romance.  Each  night 
Keogh  would  listen  patiently  to  the  tale,  and  be  ready 
with  untiring  sympathy. 

"But  don't  you  think  for  a  minute"  —  thus 
Johnny  would  always  conclude  his  woeful  narrative 
—  "  that  Fm  grieving  about  that  girl,  Billy.  I've 
forgotten  her.  She  never  enters  my  mind.  If  she 
were  to  enter  that  door  right  now,  my  pulse  wouldn't 
gain  a  beat.     That's  all  over  long  ago." 

"  Don't  I  know  it  ?  "  Keogh  would  answer.  "  Of 
course  you've  forgotten  her.  Proper  thing  to  do. 
Wasn't  quite  O.  K.  of  her  to  listen  to  the  knocks 
that  —  er  —  Dink  Pawson  kept  giving  you." 

"  Pink  Dawson ! " —  a  world  of  contempt  would 
be  in  Johnny's  tones — "Poor  white  trash!  That's 
what  he  was.  Had  five  hundred  acres  of  farming 
land,  though ;  and  that  counted.  Maybe  I'll  have  a 
chance  to  get  back  at  him  some  day.  The  Daw- 
sons  weren't  anybody.  Everybody  in  Alabama 
knows  the  Atwoods.  Say,  Billy  —  did  you  know 
my  mother  was  a  De  Graffenreid  ?  " 


Shoes  233 

*  Why,  no,"  Keogh  would  say;  "  is  that  so  ?  "  He 
had  heard  it  some  three  hundred  times. 

"  Fact.  The  De  Graffenreids  of  Hancock  County. 
But  I  never  think  of  that  girl  any  more,  do  I,  Billy  ?  " 

"Not  for  a  minute,  my  boy,"  would  be  the  last 
sounds  heard  by  the  conqueror  of  Cupid. 

At  this  point  Johnny  would  fall  into  a  gentle  slum- 
ber, and  Keogh  would  saunter  out  to  his  own  shack 
under  the  calabash  tree  at  the  edge  of  the  plaza. 

In  a  day  or  two  the  letter  from  the  Dalesburg  post- 
master and  its  answer  had  been  forgotten  by  the 
Coralio  exiles.  But  on  the  26th  day  of  July  the  fruit 
of  the  reply  appeared  upon  the  tree  of  events. 

The  Andador,  a  fruit  steamer  that  visited  Coralio 
regularly,  drew  into  the  offing  and  anchored.  The 
beach  was  lined  with  spectators  while  the  quarantine 
doctor  and  the  custom-house  crew  rowed  out  to 
attend  to  their  duties. 

An  hour  later  Billy  Keogh  lounged  into  the  con- 
sulate, clean  and  cool  in  his  linen  clothes,  and  grin- 
ning like  a  pleased  shark. 

"  Guess  what  ?  "  he  said  to  Johnny,  lounging  in 
his  hammock. 


234  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"Too  hot  to  guess,"  said  Johnny,  lazily. 

"Your  shoe-store  man's  come,"  said  Keogh,  roll- 
ing the  sweet  morsel  on  his  tongue,  "  with  a  stock  of 
goods  big  enough  to  supply  the  continent  as  far  down 
as  Terra  del  Fuego.  They're  carting  his  cases  over 
to  the  custom-house  now.  Six  barges  full  they 
brought  ashore  and  have  paddled  back  for  the  rest. 
Oh,  ye  saints  in  glory !  won't  there  be  regalements  in 
the  air  when  he  gets  onto  the  joke  and  has  an  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Consul  ?  It'll  be  worth  nine  years  in 
the  tropics  just  to  witness  that  one  joyful  moment." 

Keogh  loved  to  take  his  mirth  easily.  He  selected 
a  clean  place  on  the  matting  and  lay  upon  the  floor. 
The  walls  shook  with  his  enjoyment.  Johnny  turned 
half  over  and  blinked. 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  he  said,  "  that  anybody  was  fool 
enough  to  take  that  letter  seriously." 

"Four-thousand-dollar  stock  of  goods!"  gasped 
Keogh,  in  ecstasy.  "  Talk  about  coals  to  Newcastle ! 
Why  didn't  he  take  a  ship-load  of  palm-leaf  fans  to 
Spitzbergen  while  he  was  about  it?  Saw  the  old 
codger  on  the  beach.  You  ought  to  have  been  there 
when    he   put   on   his   specs  and  squinted  at   the 


Shoes  235 

five  hundred  or  so  barefooted  citizens  standing 
around." 

"  Are  you  telling  the  truth,  Billy  ?  "  asked  the  con- 
sul, weakly. 

"  Am  I  ?  You  ought  to  see  the  buncoed  gentleman's 
daughter  he  brought  along.  Looks!  She  makes 
the  brick-dust  seiioritas  here  look  like  tar-babies." 

"Go  on,"  said  Johnny,  "if  you  can  stop  that 
asinine  giggling.  I  hate  to  see  a  grown  man  make 
a  laughing  hyena  of  himself." 

"  Name  is  Hemstetter,"  went  on  Keogh.  "  He's 
a  —      Hello !  what's  the  matter  now  ?  " 

Johnny's  moccasined  feet  struck  the  floor  with  a 
thud  as  he  wriggled  out  of  his  hammock. 

"  Get  up,  you  idiot,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  or  I'll 
brain  you  with  this  inkstand.  That's  Rosine  and 
her  father.  Gad !  what  a  drivelling  idiot  old  Patter- 
son is!  Get  up,  here,  Billy  Keogh,  and  help  me. 
What  the  devil  are  we  going  to  do?  Has  all  the 
world  gone  crazy  ?  " 

Keogh  rose  and  dusted  himself.  He  managed  to 
regain  a  decorous  demeanour. 

"Situation  has  got  to  be  met,  Johnny,"  he  said, 


236  Cabbages  and  Kings 

with  some  success  at  seriousness.  u  I  didn't  think 
about  its  being  your  girl  until  you  spoke.  First  thing 
to  do  is  to  get  them  comfortable  quarters.  You  go 
down  and  face  the  music,  and  I'll  trot  out  to  Good- 
win's and  see  if  Mrs.  Goodwin  won't  take  them  in. 
They've  got  the  decentest  house  in  town." 

"Bless  you,  Billy!"  said  the  consul.  "I  knew 
you  wouldn't  desert  me.  The  world's  bound  to 
come  to  an  end,  but  maybe  we  can  stave  it  off  for  a 
day  or  two." 

Keogh  hoisted  his  umbrella  and  set  out  for  Good- 
win's house.  Johnny  put  on  his  coat  and  hat.  He 
picked  up  the  brandy  bottle,  but  set  it  down  again 
without  drinking,  and  marched  bravely  down  to  the 
beach. 

In  the  shade  of  the  custom-house  walls  he  found 
Mr.  Hemstetter  and  Rosine  surrounded  by  a  mass 
of  gaping  citizens.  The  customs  officers  were  duck- 
ing and  scraping,  while  the  captain  of  the  Andador 
interpreted  the  business  of  the  new  arrivals.  Rosine 
looked  healthy  and  very  much  alive.  She  was  gazing 
at  the  strange  scenes  around  her  with  amused  interest. 
There  was  a  faint  blush  upon  her  round  cheek  as  she 


Shoes  237 

greeted  her  old  admirer.  Mr.  Hemstetter  shook 
hands  with  Johnny  in  a  very  friendly  way.  He  was 
an  oldish,  impractical  man  —  one  of  that  numerous 
class  of  erratic  business  men  who  are  forever  dissatis- 
fied, and  seeking  a  change. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  John  —  may  I  call  you 
John  ?  "  he  said.  Let  me  thank  you  for  your  prompt 
answer  to  our  postmaster's  letter  of  inquiry.  He 
volunteered  to  write  to  you  on  my  behalf.  I  was 
looking  about  for  something  different  in  the  way  of 
a  business  in  which  the  profits  would  be  greater. 
I  had  noticed  in  the  papers  that  this  coast  was  receiv- 
ing much  attention  from  investors.  I  am  extremely 
grateful  for  your  advice  to  come.  I  sold  out  every- 
thing that  I  possess,  and  invested  the  proceeds  in  as 
fine  a  stock  of  shoes  as  could  be  bought  in  the  North. 
You  have  a  picturesque  town  here,  John.  I  hope 
business  will  be  as  good  as  your  letter  justifies  me 
in  expecting." 

Johnny's  agony  was  abbreviated  by  the  arrival 
of  Keogh,  who  hurried  up  with  the  news  that 
Mrs.  Goodwin  would  be  much  pleased  to  place 
rooms  at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Hemstetter  and  his 


238  Cabbages  and  Kings 

daughter.  So  there  Mr.  Hemstetter  and  Rosine 
were  at  once  conducted  and  left  to  recuperate  from 
the  fatigue  of  the  voyage,  while  Johnny  went  down 
to  see  that  the  cases  of  shoes  were  safely  stored  in  the 
customs  warehouse  pending  their  examination  by  the 
officials.  Keogh,  grinning  like  a  shark,  skirmished 
about  to  find  Goodwin,  to  instruct  him  not  to  expose 
to  Mr.  Hemstetter  the  true  state  of  Coralio  as  a  shoe 
market  until  Johnny  had  been  given  a  chance  to 
redeem  the  situation,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible. 

That  night  the  consul  and  Keogh  held  a  desperate 
consultation  on  the  breezy  porch  of  the  consulate. 

"Send  'em  back  home,"  began  Keogh,  reading 
Johnny's  thoughts. 

"  I  would,"  said  Johnny,  after  a  little  silence;  "  but 
I've  been  lying  to  you,  Billy. " 

"All  right  about  that,"  said  Keogh,  affably. 

"I've  told  you  hundreds  of  times,"  said  Johnny, 
slowly,  "  that  I  had  forgotten  that  girl,  haven't  I  ?  " 

"About  three  hundred  and  seventy-five,"  admit- 
ted the  monument  of  patience. 

"I  lied,"  repeated  the  consul,  "every  time.     I 
never  forgot  her  for  one  minute.     I  was  an  obstinate 


Shoes  239 

ass  for  running  away  just  because  she  said  'No* 
once.  And  I  was  too  proud  a  fool  to  go  back.  I 
talked  with  Rosine  a  few  minutes  this  evening  up  at 
Goodwin's.  I  found  out  one  thing.  You  re- 
member that  farmer  fellow  who  was  always  after 
her?" 

"  Dink  Pawson  ?  "  asked  Keogh. 

"Pink  Dawson.  Well,  he  wasn't  a  hill  of  beans 
to  her.  She  says  she  didn't  believe  a  word  of  the 
things  he  told  her  about  me.  But  I'm  sewed  up 
now,  Billy.  That  tomfool  letter  we  sent  ruined 
whatever  chance  I  had  left.  She'll  despise  me  when 
she  finds  out  that  her  old  father  has  been  made  the 
victim  of  a  joke  that  a  decent  school  boy  wouldn't 
have  been  guilty  of.  Shoes!  Why  he  couldn't  sell 
twenty  pairs  of  shoes  in  Coralio  if  he  kept  store  here 
for  twenty  years.  You  put  a  pair  of  shoes  on  one 
of  these  Caribs  or  Spanish  brown  boys  and  what'd 
he  do?  Stand  on  his  head  and  squeal  until  he'd 
kicked  'em  off.  None  of  'em  ever  wore  shoes  and 
they  never  will.  If  I  send  'em  back  home  I'll  have 
to  tell  the  whole  story,  and  what'll  she  think  of  me  ? 
I  want  that  girl  worse  than  ever,  Billy,  and  now  when 


240  Cabbages  and  Kings 

she's  in  reach  I've  lost  her  forever  because  I  tried  to 

be  funny  when  the  thermometer  was  at  102." 

"  Keep  cheerful,"  said  the  optimistic  Keogh.  "  And 
let  'em  open  the  store.  I've  been  busy  myself  this 
afternoon.  We  can  stir  up  a  temporary  boom  in 
foot-gear  anyhow.  I'll  buy  six  pairs  when  the  doors 
open.  I've  been  around  and  seen  all  the  fellows  and 
explained  the  catastrophe.  They'll  all  buy  shoes 
like  they  was  centipedes.  Frank  Goodwin  will  take 
cases  of  'em.  The  Geddies  want  about  eleven  pairs 
between  'em.  Clancy  is  going  to  invest  the  savings 
of  weeks,  and  even  old  Doc  Gregg  wants  three  pairs 
of  alligator-hide  slippers  if  they've  got  any  tens. 
Blanchard  got  a  look  at  Miss  Hemstetter;  and  as 
he's  a  Frenchman,  no  less  than  a  dozen  pairs  will  do 
for  him." 

"  A  dozen  customers,"  said  Johnny,  "  for  a  $4,000 
stock  of  shoes !  It  won't  work.  There's  a  big  prob- 
lem here  to  figure  out.  You  go  home,  Billy,  and 
leave  me  alone.  I've  got  to  work  at  it  all  by  myself. 
Take  that  bottle  of  Three-star  along  with  you  —  no, 
sir;  not  another  ounce  of  booze  for  the  United  States 
consul.     I'll  sit  here  to-night  and  pull  out  the  think 


Shoes  241 

stop.  If  there's  a  soft  place  on  this  proposition  any- 
where I'll  land  on  it.  If  there  isn't  there'll  be  another 
wreck  to  the  credit  of  the  gorgeous  tropics." 

Keogh  left,  feeling  that  he  could  be  of  no  use. 
Johnny  laid  a  handful  of  cigars  on  a  table  and 
stretched  himself  in  a  steamer  chair.  When  the 
sudden  daylight  broke,  silvering  the  harbour  rip- 
ples, he  was  still  sitting  there.  Then  he  got  up, 
whistling  a  little  tune,  and  took  his  bath. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  walked  down  to  the  dingy  little 
cable  office  and  hung  for  half  an  hour  over  a  blank. 
The  result  of  his  application  was  the  following  mes- 
sage, which  he  signed  and  had  transmitted  at  a  cost 
of  $33: 

To  Pinkney  Dawson, 

Dalesburg,  Ala. 
Draft  for  $100  comes  to  you  next  mail.     Ship  me 
immediately  500  pounds  stiff,  dry  cockleburrs.    New 
use  here  in  arts.     Market  price  twenty  cents  pound. 
Further  orders  likely.     Rush. 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN 

Ships 


WlTHIN  a  week  a  suitable  building  had  been 
secured  in  the  Calle  Grande,  and  Mr.  Hemstetter's 
stock  of  shoes  arranged  upon  their  shelves.  The 
rent  of  the  store  was  moderate;  and  the  stock  made 
a  fine  showing  of  neat  white  boxes,  attractively 
displayed. 

Johnny's  friends  stood  by  him  loyally.  On  the 
first  day  Keogh  strolled  into  the  store  in  a  casual 
kind  of  way  about  once  every  hour,  and  bought 
shoes.  After  he  had  purchased  a  pair  each  of  exten- 
sion soles,  congress  gaiters,  button  kids,  low-quar- 
tered calfs,  dancing  pumps,  rubber  boots,  tans  of 
various  hues,  tennis  shoes  and  flowered  slippers,  he 
sought  out  Johnny  to  be  prompted  as  to  the  names  of 


Ships  243 

other  kinds  that  he  might  inquire  for.  The  other 
English-speaking  residents  also  played  their  parts 
nobly  by  buying  often  and  liberally.  Keogh  was 
grand  marshal,  and  made  them  distribute  their 
patronage,  thus  keeping  up  a  fair  run  of  custom  for 
several  days. 

Mr.  Hemstetter  was  gratified  by  the  amount  of 
business  done  thus  far;  but  expressed  surprise  that  the 
natives  were  so  backward  with  their  custom. 

"Oh,  they're  awfully  shy,"  explained  Johnny,  as 
he  wiped  his  forehead  nervously.  "They'll  get  the 
habit  pretty  soon.  They'll  come  with  a  rush  when 
they  do  come." 

One  afternoon  Keogh  dropped  into  the  consul's 
office,  chewing  an  unlighted  cigar  thoughtfully. 

"Got  anything  up  your  sleeve?"  he  inquired  of 
Johnny.  "If  you  have  it's  about  time  to  show  it. 
If  you  can  borrow  some  gent's  hat  in  the  audience, 
and  make  a  lot  of  customers  for  an  idle  stock  of  shoes 
come  out  of  it,  you'd  better  spiel.  The  boys  have 
all  laid  in  enough  footwear  to  last  'em  ten  years; 
and  there's  nothing  doing  in  the  shoe  store  but  dolcy 
far  nienty.     I  just  came  by  there.     Your  venerable 


244  Cabbages  and  Kings 

victim  was  standing  in  the  door,  gazing  through  his 
specs  at  the  bare  toes  passing  by  his  emporium.  The 
natives  here  have  got  the  true  artistic  temperament. 
Me  and  Clancy  took  eighteen  tintypes  this  morning 
in  two  hours.  There's  been  but  one  pair  of  shoes 
sold  all  day.  Blanchard  went  in  and  bought  a  pair 
of  fur-lined  house-slippers  because  he  thought  he 
saw  Miss  Hemstetter  go  into  the  store.  I  saw  him 
throw  the  slippers  into  the  lagoon  afterwards." 

"  There's  a  Mobile  fruit  steamer  coming  in  to-mor- 
row or  next  day,"  said  Johnny.  "  We  can't  do  any- 
thing until  then." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  —  try  to  create  a  de- 
mand?" 

"Political  economy  isn't  your  strong  point,"  said 
the  consul,  impudently.  "You  can't  create  a  de- 
mand. But  you  can  create  a  necessity  for  a  demand. 
That's  what  I  am  going  to  do." 

Two  weeks  after  the  consul  sent  his  cable,  a  fruit 
steamer  brought  him  a  huge,  mysterious  brown  bale 
of  some  unknown  commodity.  Johnny's  influence 
with  the  custom-house  people  was  sufficiently  strong 
for  him  to  get  the  goods  turned  over  to  him  without 


Ships  245 

the  usual  inspection.  He  had  the  bale  taken  to  the 
consulate  and  snugly  stowed  in  the  back  room. 

That  night  he  ripped  open  a  corner  of  it  and  took 
out  a  handful  of  the  cockleburrs.  He  examined 
them  with  the  care  with  which  a  warrior  examines 
his  arms  before  he  goes  forth  to  battle  for  his  lady- 
love and  life.  The  burrs  were  the  ripe  August  prod- 
uct, as  hard  as  filberts,  and  bristling  with  spines  as 
tough  and  sharp  as  needles.  Johnny  whistled  softly 
a  little  tune,  and  went  out  to  find  Billy  Keogh. 

Later  in  the  night,  when  Coralio  was  steeped  in 
slumber,  he  and  Billy  went  forth  into  the  deserted 
streets  with  their  coats  bulging  like  balloons.  All  up 
and  down  the  Calle  Grande  they  went,  sowing  the 
sharp  burrs  carefully  in  the  sand,  along  the  narrow 
sidewalks,  in  every  foot  of  grass  between  the  silent 
houses.  And  then  they  took  the  side  streets  and  by- 
ways, missing  none.  No  place  where  the  foot  of 
man,  woman  or  child  might  fall  was  slighted.  Many 
trips  they  made  to  and  from  the  prickly  hoard.  And 
then,  nearly  at  the  dawn,  they  laid  themselves  down 
to  rest  calmly,  as  great  generals  do  after  planning 
a  victory  according  to  the  revised  tactics,  and  slept, 


246  Cabbages  and  Kings 

knowing  that  they  had  sowed  with  the  accuracy  of 

Satan  sowing  tares  and  the  perseverance  of  Paul 

planting. 

With  the  rising  sun  came  the  purveyors  of  fruits 
and  meats,  and  arranged  their  wares  in  and  around 
the  little  market-house.  At  one  end  of  the  town  near 
the  seashore  the  market-house  stood ;  and  the  sowing 
of  the  burrs  had  not  been  carried  that  far.  The 
dealers  waited  long  past  the  hour  when  their  sales 
usually  began.  None  came  to  buy.  "Que  hay?" 
they  began  to  exclaim,  one  to  another. 

At  their  accustomed  time,  from  every  'dobe  and 
palm  hut  and  grass-thatched  shack  and  dim  patio 
glided  women  —  black  women,  brown  women,  lemon- 
colored  women,  women  dun  and  yellow  and  tawny. 
They  were  the  marketers  starting  to  purchase  the 
family  supply  of  cassava,  plantains,  meat,  fowls,  and 
tortillas.  Decollete  they  were  and  bare-armed  and 
bare-footed,  with  a  single  skirt  reaching  below  the 
knee.  Stolid  and  ox-eyed,  they  stepped  from  their 
doorways  into  the  narrow  paths  or  upon  the  soft  grass 
of  the  streets. 

The  first  to  emerge  uttered  ambiguous  squeals,  and 


Ships  247 

raised  one  foot  quickly.  Another  step  and  they  sat 
down,  with  shrill  cries  of  alarm,  to  pick  at  the  new  and 
painful  insects  that  had  stung  them  upon  the  feet. 
"  Que  picadores  diablos  !  "  they  screeched  to  one  an- 
other across  the  narrow  ways.  Some  tried  the  grass 
instead  of  the  paths,  but  there  they  were  also  stung 
and  bitten  by  the  strange  little  prickly  balls.  They 
plumped  down  in  the  grass,  and  added  their  lamen- 
tations to  those  of  their  sisters  in  the  sandy  paths.  All 
through  the  town  was  heard  the  plaint  of  the  feminine 
jabber.  The  venders  in  the  market  still  wondered 
why  no  customers  came. 

Then  men,  lords  of  the  earth,  came  forth.  They, 
too,  began  to  hop,  to  dance,  to  limp,  and  to  curse. 
They  stood  stranded  and  foolish,  or  stooped  to  pluck 
at  the  scourge  that  attacked  their  feet  and  ankles. 
Some  loudly  proclaimed  the  pest  to  be  poisonous 
spiders  of  an  unknown  species. 

And  then  the  children  ran  out  for  their  morning 
romp.  And  now  to  the  uproar  was  added  the 
howls  of  limping  infants  and  cockleburred  child- 
hood. Every  minute  the  advancing  day  brought 
forth  fresh  victims. 


248  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Dona  Maria  Castillas  y  Buenventura  de  las  Casas 
stepped  from  her  honoured  doorway,  as  was  her  daily 
custom,  to  procure  fresh  bread  from  the  panaderia 
across  the  street.  She  was  clad  in  a  skirt  of  flowered 
yellow  satin,  a  chemise  of  ruffled  linen,  and  wore  a 
purple  mantilla  from  the  looms  of  Spain.  Her  lemon- 
tinted  feet,  alas !  were  bare.  Her  progress  was  ma- 
jestic, for  were  not  her  ancestors  hidalgos  of  Aragon  ? 
Three  steps  she  made  across  the  velvety  grass,  and  set 
her  aristocratic  sole  upon  a  bunch  of  Johnny's  burrs. 
Dona  Maria  Castillas  y  Buenventura  de  las  Casas 
emitted  a  yowl  even  as  a  wild-cat.  Turning  about, 
she  fell  upon  hands  and  knees,  and  crawled  —  ay,  like 
a  beast  of  the  field  she  crawled  back  to  her  honour- 
able door-sill. 

Don  Senor  Ildefonso  Federico  Valdazar,  Juez  de  la 
Paz,  weighing  twenty  stone,  attempted  to  convey  his 
bulk  to  the  pulperia  at  the  corner  of  the  plaza  in  order 
to  assuage  his  matutinal  thirst.  The  first  plunge  of 
his  unshod  foot  into  the  cool  grass  struck  a  concealed 
mine.  Don  Ildefonso  fell  like  a  crumbled  cathedral, 
crying  out  that  he  had  been  fatally  bitten  by  a  deadly 
scorpion.     Everywhere   were   the   shoeless   citizens 


Ships  249 

hopping,  stumbling,  limping,  and  picking  from  their 
feet  the  venomous  insects  that  had  come  in  a  single 
night  to  harass  them. 

The  first  to  perceive  the  remedy  was  Esteban  Del- 
gado,  the  barber,  a  man  of  travel  and  education.  Sit- 
ting upon  a  stone,  he  plucked  burrs  from  his  toes,  and 
made  oration: 

"Behold,  my  friends,  these  bugs  of  the  devil!  I 
know  them  well.  They  soar  through  the  skies  in 
swarms  like  pigeons.  These  are  dead  ones  that  fell 
during  the  night.  In  Yucatan  I  have  seen  them  as 
large  as  oranges.  Yes!  There  they  hiss  like  ser- 
pents, and  have  wings  like  bats.  It  is  the  shoes  —  the 
shoes  that  one  needs !    Zapatos  —  zapatos  para  mi  I " 

Esteban  hobbled  to  Mr.  Hemstetter's  store,  and 
bought  shoes.  Coming  out,  he  swaggered  down  the 
street  with  impunity,  reviling  loudly  the  bugs  of  the 
devil.  The  suffering  ones  sat  up  or  stood  upon  one 
foot  and  beheld  the  immune  barber.  Men,  women 
and  children  took  up  the  cry :  "  Zapatos  I  zapatos  !  " 

The  necessity  for  the  demand  had  been  created. 
The  demand  followed.  That  day  Mr.  Hemstetter 
sold  three  hundred  pairs  of  shoes. 


250  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"  It  is  really  surprising, "  he  said  to  Johnny,  who 
came  up  in  the  evening  to  help  him  straighten  out  the 
stock,  "  how  trade  is  picking  up.  Yesterday  I  made 
but  three  sales. " 

"  I  told  you  they'd  whoop  things  up  when  they  got 
started,"  said  the  consul. 

"  I  think  I  shall  order  a  dozen  more  cases  of  goods, 
to  keep  the  stock  up, "  said  Mr.  Hemstetter,  beaming 
through  his  spectacles. 

"  I  wouldn't  send  in  any  orders  yet, "  advised 
Johnny.  "Wait  till  you  see  how  the  trade  holds 
up." 

Each  night  Johnny  and  Keogh  sowed  the  crop  that 
grew  dollars  by  day.  At  the  end  of  ten  days  two- 
thirds  of  the  stock  of  shoes  had  been  sold  ;  and  the 
stock  of  cockleburrs  was  exhausted.  Johnny  cabled 
to  Pink  Dawson  for  another  500  pounds,  paying 
twenty  cents  per  pound  as  before.  Mr.  Hemstetter 
carefully  made  up  an  order  for  $1500  worth  of  shoes 
from  Northern  firms.  Johnny  hung  about  the  store 
until  this  order  was  ready  for  the  mail,  and  succeed- 
ed in  destroying  it  before  it  reached  the  postoffice. 

That  night  he  took  Rosine  under  the  mango  tree  by 


Ships  251 

Goodwin's  porch,  and  confessed  everything.  She 
looked  him  in  the  eye,  and  said:  "You  are  a  very 
wicked  man.  Father  and  I  will  go  back  home.  You 
say  it  was  a  joke  ?  I  think  it  is  a  very  serious  mat- 
ter." 

But  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour's  argument  the  con- 
versation had  been  turned  upon  a  different  subject. 
The  two  were  considering  the  respective  merits  of 
pale  blue  and  pink  wall  paper  with  which  the  old 
colonial  mansion  of  the  Atwoods  in  Dalesburg  was  to 
be  decorated  after  the  wedding. 

On  the  next  morning  Johnny  confessed  to  Mr. 
Hemstetter.  The  shoe  merchant  put  on  his  specta- 
cles, and  said  through  them :  "  You  strike  me  as  being 
a  most  extraordinary  young  scamp.  If  I  had  not 
managed  this  enterprise  with  good  business  judg- 
ment my  entire  stock  of  goods  might  have  been  a 
complete  loss.  Now,  how  do  you  propose  to  dispose 
of  the  rest  of  it?" 

When  the  second  invoice  of  cockleburrs  arrived 
Johnny  loaded  them  and  the  remainder  of  the  shoes 
into  a  schooner,  and  sailed  down  the  coast  to 
Alazan. 


252  Cabbages  and  Kings 

There,  in  the  same  dark  and  diabolical  manner,  he 
repeated  his  success:  and  came  back  with  a  bag  of 
money  and  not  so  much  as  a  shoestring. 

And  then  he  besought  his  great  Uncle  of  the  waving 
goatee  and  starred  vest  to  accept  his  resignation,  for 
the  lotus  no  longer  lured  him.  He  hankered  for  the 
spinach  and  cress  of  Dalesburg. 

The  services  of  Mr.  William  Terence  Keogh  as 
acting  consul,  pro  tern.,  were  suggested  and  accepted, 
and  Johnny  sailed  with  the  Hemstetters  back  to  his 
native  shores. 

Keogh  slipped  into  the  sinecure  of  the  American 
consulship  with  the  ease  that  never  left  him  even  in 
such  high  places.  The  tintype  establishment  was 
soon  to  become  a  thing  of  the  past,  although  its  deadly 
work  along  the  peaceful  and  helpless  Spanish  Main 
was  never  effaced.  The  restless  partners  were  about 
to  be  off  again,  scouting  ahead  of  the  slow  ranks  of 
Fortune.  But  now  they  would  take  different  ways. 
There  were  rumours  of  a  promising  uprising  in  Peru ; 
and  thither  the  martial  Clancy  would  turn  his  adven- 
turous steps.  As  for  Keogh,  he  was  figuring  in  his 
mind  and  on  quires  of  Government  letter-heads  a 


Ships  253 

scheme  that  dwarfed  the  art  of  misrepresenting  the 
human  countenance  upon  tin. 

"  What  suits  me, "  Keogh  used  to  say,  "  in  the  way 
of  a  business  proposition  is  something  diversified  that 
looks  like  a  longer  shot  than  it  is  —  something  in 
the  way  of  a  genteel  graft  that  isn't  worked  enough 
for  the  correspondence  schools  to  be  teaching  it  by 
mail.  I  take  the  long  end ;  but  I  like  to  have  at  least 
as  good  a  chance  to  win  as  a  man  learning  to  play 
poker  on  an  ocean  steamer,  or  running  for  governor 
of  Texas  on  the  Republican  ticket.  And  when  I 
cash  in  my  winnings  I  don't  want  to  find  any  widows' 
and  orphans'  chips  in  my  stack. " 

The  grass-grown  globe  was  the  green  table  on 
which  Keogh  gambled.  The  games  he  played  were 
of  his  own  invention.  He  was  no  grubber  after  the 
diffident  dollar.  Nor  did  he  care  to  follow  it  with 
horn  and  hounds.  Rather  he  loved  to  coax  it  with 
egregious  and  brilliant  flies  from  its  habitat  in  the 
waters  of  strange  streams.  Yet  Keogh  was  a  business 
man;  and  his  schemes,  in  spite  of  their  singularity, 
were  as  solidly  set  as  the  plans  of  a  building  contrac- 
tor.    In  Arthur's  time  Sir  William   Keogh  would 


254  Cabbages  and  Kings 

have  been  a  Knight  of  the  Round  Table.  In  these 
modern  days  he  rides  abroad,  seeking  the  Graft  in- 
stead of  the  Grail. 

Three  days  after  Johnny's  departure,  two  small 
schooners  appeared  off  Coralio.  After  some  delay  a 
boat  put  off  from  one  of  them,  and  brought  a  sun- 
burned young  man  ashore.  This  young  man  had  a 
shrewd  and  calculating  eye  ;  and  he  gazed  with 
amazement  at  the  strange  things  that  he  saw.  He 
found  on  the  beach  some  one  who  directed  him  to 
the  consul's  office;  and  thither  he  made  his  way  at  a 
nervous  gait. 

Keogh  was  sprawled  in  the  official  chair,  drawing 
caricatures  of  his  Uncle's  head  on  an  official  pad  of 
paper.     He  looked  up  at  his  visitor. 

"Where's  Johnny  Atwood?"  inquired  the  sun- 
burned young  man,  in  a  business  tone. 

"  Gone, "  said  Keogh,  working  carefully  at  Uncle 
Sam's  necktie. 

"That's  just  like  him,"  remarked  the  nut-brown 
one,  leaning  against  the  table.  "He  always  was  a 
fellow  to  gallivant  around  instead  of  'tending  to 
business.     Will  he  be  in  soon  ?  " 


Ships  255 

"  Don't  think  so, "  said  Keogh,  after  a  fair  amount 
of  deliberation. 

"  I  s'pose  he's  out  at  some  of  his  tomfoolery, "  con- 
jectured the  visitor,  in  a  tone  of  virtuous  conviction. 
"  Johnny  never  would  stick  to  anything  long  enough 
to  succeed.  I  wonder  how  he  manages  to  run  his 
business  here,  and  never  be  'round  to  look  after  it.  " 

"  I'm  looking  after  the  business  just  now, "  admit- 
ted the  pro  tern,  consul. 

"Are  you?  —  then,  say!  —  where's  the  factory?" 
"  What  factory  ?  "  asked  Keogh,  with  mildly  polite 
interest. 

"Why,  the  factory  where  they  use  them  cockle- 
burrs.  Lord  knows  what  they  use  'em  for,  anyway! 
I've  got  the  basements  of  both  them  ships  out  there 
loaded  with  'em.  I'll  give  you  a  bargain  in  this 
lot.  I've  had  every  man,  woman  and  child  around 
Dalesburg  that  wasn't  busy  pickin'  'em  for  a  month. 
I  hired  these  ships  to  bring  'em  over.  Everybody 
thought  I  was  crazy.  Now,  you  can  have  this  lot  for 
fifteen  cents  a  pound,  delivered  on  land.  And  if  you 
want  more  I  guess  old  Alabam'  can  come  up  to  the 
demand.     Johnny  told  me  when  he  left  home  that  if 


256  Cabbages  and  Kings 

he  struck  anything  down  here  that  there  was  any 
money  in  he'd  let  me  in  on  it.  Shall  I  drive  the  ships 
in  and  hitch  ?  " 

A  look  of  supreme,  almost  incredulous,  delight 
dawned  in  Keogh 's  ruddy  countenance.  He  dropped 
his  pencil.  His  eyes  turned  upon  the  sunburned 
young  man  with  joy  in  them  mingled  with  fear  lest 
his  ecstasy  should  prove  a  dream. 

"  For  God's  sake  tell  me, "  said  Keogh,  earnestly, 
"  are  you  Dink  Pawson  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Pinkney  Dawson, "  said  the  cornerer 
of  the  cockleburr  market. 

Billy  Keogh  slid  rapturously  and  gently  from  his 
chair  to  his  favourite  strip  of  matting  on  the  floor. 

There  were  not  many  sounds  in  Coralio  on  that 
sultry  afternoon.  Among  those  that  were  may  be 
mentioned  a  noise  of  enraptured  and  unrighteous 
laughter  from  a  prostrate  Irish-American,  while  a 
sunburned  young  man,  with  a  shrewd  eye,  looked  on 
him  with  wonder  and  amazement.  Also  the  "  tramp, 
tramp,  tramp  "  of  many  well-shod  feet  in  the  streets 
outside.  Also  the  lonesome  wash  of  the  waves  that 
beat  along  the  historic  shores  of  the  Spanish  Main. 


CHAPTER    FOURTEEN 

Masters  of  Arts 


l\  TWO-INCH  stub  of  a  blue  pencil  was  the  wand 
with  which  Keogh  performed  the  preliminary  acts  of 
his  magic.  So,  with  this  he  covered  paper  with  dia- 
grams and  figures  while  he  waited  for  the  United 
States  of  America  to  send  down  to  Coralio  a  suc- 
cessor to  Atwood,  resigned. 

The  new  scheme  that  his  mind  had  conceived,  his 
stout  heart  indorsed,  and  his  blue  pencil  corrobo- 
rated, was  laid  around  the  characteristics  and  human 
frailties  of  the  new  president  of  Anchuria.  These 
characteristics,  and  the  situation  out  of  which  Keogh 
hoped  to  wrest  a  golden  tribute,  deserve  chronicling 
contributive  to  the  clear  order  of  events. 

President  Losada  —  many  called  him  Dictator  — 


258  Cabbages  and  Kings 

was  a  man  whose  genius  would  have  made  him  con- 
spicuous even  among  Anglo-Saxons,  had  not  that 
genius  been  intermixed  with  other  traits  that  were 
petty  and  subversive.  He  had  some  of  the  lofty  pa- 
triotism of  Washington  (the  man  he  most  admired), 
the  force  of  Napoleon,  and  much  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
sages.  These  characteristics  might  have  justified 
him  in  the  assumption  of  the  title  of  "  The  Illustrious 
Liberator,"  had  they  not  been  accompanied  by  a 
stupendous  and  amazing  vanity  that  kept  him  in  the 
less  worthy  ranks  of  the  dictators. 

Yet  he  did  his  country  great  service.  With  a 
mighty  grasp  he  shook  it  nearly  free  from  the  shackles 
of  ignorance  and  sloth  and  the  vermin  that  fed  upon 
it,  and  all  but  made  it  a  power  in  the  council  of 
nations.  He  established  schools  and  hospitals,  built 
roads,  bridges,  railroads  and  palaces,  and  bestowed 
generous  subsidies  upon  the  arts  and  sciences.  He 
was  the  absolute  despot  and  the  idol  of  his  people. 
The  wealth  of  the  country  poured  into  his  hands. 
Other  presidents  had  been  rapacious  without  reason. 
Losada  amassed  enormous  wealth,  but  his  people 
had  their  share  of  the  benefits. 


Masters  of  Arts  259 

The  joint  in  his  armour  was  his  insatiate  passion  for 
monuments  and  tokens  commemorating  his  glory.  In 
every  town  he  caused  to  be  erected  statues  of  himself 
bearing  legends  in  praise  of  his  greatness.  In  the  walls 
of  every  public  edifice,  tablets  were  fixed  reciting 
his  splendour  and  the  gratitude  of  his  subjects.  His 
statuettes  and  portraits  were  scattered  through- 
out the  land  in  every  house  and  hut.  One  of 
the  sycophants  in  his  court  painted  him  as  St.  John, 
with  a  halo  and  a  train  of  attendants  in  full 
uniform.  Losada  saw  nothing  incongruous  in  this 
picture,  and  had  it  hung  in  a  church  in  the  capital. 
He  ordered  from  a  French  sculptor  a  marble  group 
including  himself  with  Napoleon,  Alexander  the 
Great,  and  one  or  two  others  whom  he  deemed 
worthy  of  the  honour. 

He  ransacked  Europe  for  decorations,  employing 
policy,  money  and  intrigue  to  cajole  the  orders  he  cov- 
eted from  kings  and  rulers.  On  state  occasions  his 
breast  was  covered  from  shoulder  to  shoulder  with 
crosses,  stars,  golden  roses,  medals  and  ribbons.  It 
was  said  that  the  man  who  could  contrive  for  him  a 
new  decoration,  or  invent  some  new  method  of  extoll- 


260  Cabbages  and  Kings 

ing  his  greatness,  might  plunge  a  hand  deep  into  the 

treasury. 

This  was  the  man  upon  whom  Billy  Keogh  had  his 
eye.  The  gentle  buccaneer  had  observed  the  rain  of 
favours  that  fell  upon  those  who  ministered  to  the 
president's  vanities,  and  he  did  not  deem  it  his  duty 
to  hoist  his  umbrella  against  the  scattering  drops  of 
liquid  fortune. 

In  a  few  weeks  the  new  consul  arrived,  releasing 
Keogh  from  his  temporary  duties.  He  was  a  young 
man  fresh  from  college,  who  lived  for  botany  alone. 
The  consulate  at  Coralio  gave  him  the  opportunity  to 
study  tropical  flora.  He  wore  smoked  glasses,  and 
carried  a  green  umbrella.  He  filled  the  cool,  back 
porch  of  the  consulate  with  plants  and  specimens  so 
that  space  for  a  bottle  and  chair  was  not  to  be  found. 
Keogh  gazed  on  him  sadly,  but  without  rancour,  and 
began  to  pack  his  gripsack.  For  his  new  plot  against 
stagnation  along  the  Spanish  Main  required  of  him  a 
voyage  overseas. 

Soon  came  the  Karlsefin  again  —  she  of  the 
trampish  habits  —  gleaning  a  cargo  of  cocoanuts 
for   a    speculative    descent    upon    the    New .  York 


Masters  of  Arts  261 

market.  Keogh  was  booked  for  a  passage  on  the 
return  trip. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  to  New  York, "  he  explained  to  the 
group  of  his  countrymen  that  had  gathered  on  the 
beach  to  see  him  off.  "  But  I'll  be  back  before  you 
miss  me.  I've  undertaken  the  art  education  of  this 
piebald  country,  and  I'm  not  the  man  to  desert  it 
while  it's  in  the  early  throes  of  tintypes. " 

With  this  mysterious  declaration  of  his  intentions 
Keogh  boarded  the  Karlsefin. 

Ten  days  later,  shivering,  with  the  collar  of  his  thin 
coat  turned  high,  he  burst  into  the  studio  of  Carolus 
White  at  the  top  of  a  tall  building  in  Tenth  Street, 
New  York  City. 

Carolus  White  was  smoking  a  cigarette  and  frying 
sausages  over  an  oil  stove.  He  was  only  twenty- 
three,  and  had  noble  theories  about  art. 

"Billy  Keogh!"  exclaimed  White,  extending  the 
hand  that  was  not  busy  with  the  frying  pan.  "  From 
what  part  of  the  uncivilized  world,  I  wonder! " 

"Hello,  Carry,"  said  Keogh,  dragging  forward  a 
stool,  and  holding  his  fingers  close  to  the  stove.  "  I'm 
glad  I  found  you  so  soon.     I've  been  looking  for  you 


262  Cabbages  and  Kings 

all  day  in  the  directories  and  art  galleries.  The  free- 
lunch  man  on  the  corner  told  me  where  you  were, 
quick.     I  was  sure  you'd  be  painting  pictures  yet. " 

Keogh  glanced  about  the  studio  with  the  shrewd 
eye  of  a  connoisseur  in  business. 

"Yes,  you  can  do  it,"  he  declared,  with  many 
gentle  nods  of  his  head.  "That  big  one  in  the 
corner  with  the  angels  and  green  clouds  and  band- 
wagon is  just  the  sort  of  thing  we  want.  What 
would  you  call  that,  Carry  —  scene  from  Coney 
Island,  aint  it  ?  " 

"  That, "  said  White,  "  I  had  intended  to  call '  The 
Translation  of  Elijah,'  but  you  may  be  nearer  right 
than  I  am. " 

"Name  doesn't  matter,"  said  Keogh,  largely;  " it's 
the  frame  and  the  varieties  of  paint  that  does  the 
trick.  Now,  I  can  tell  you  in  a  minute  what  I  want. 
I've  come  on  a  little  voyage  of  two  thousand  miles 
to  take  you  in  with  me  on  a  scheme.  I  thought  of 
you  as  soon  as  the  scheme  showed  itself  to  me.  How 
would  you  like  to  go  back  with  me  and  paint  a  pic- 
ture? Ninety  days  for  the  trip,  and  five  thousand 
dollars  for  the  job." 


Masters  of  Arts  263 

"  Cereal  food  or  hair-tonic  posters  ?  "  asked  White. 

"It  isn't  an  ad." 

"  What  kind  of  a  picture  is  it  to  be  ?  " 

"  It's  a  long  story,"  said  Keogh. 

"  Go  ahead  with  it.  If  you  don't  mind,  while 
you  talk  I'll  just  keep  my  eye  on  these  sausages. 
Let  'em  get  one  shade  deeper  than  a  Vandyke  brown 
and  you  spoil  'em." 

Keogh  explained  his  project.  They  were  to  return 
to  Coralio,  where  White  was  to  pose  as  a  distin- 
guished American  portrait  painter  who  was  touring 
in  the  tropics  as  a  relaxation  from  his  arduous  and 
remunerative  professional  labours.  It  was  not  an 
unreasonable  hope,  even  to  those  who  trod  in  the 
beaten  paths  of  business,  that  an  artist  with  so 
much  prestige  might  secure  a  commission  to  per- 
petuate upon  canvas  the  lineaments  of  the  president, 
and  secure  a  share  of  the  pesos  that  were  raining 
upon  the  caterers  to  his  weaknesses. 

Keogh  had  set  his  price  at  ten  thousand  dollars. 
Artists  had  been  paid  more  for  portraits.  He  and 
White  were  to  share  the  expenses  of  the  trip,  and 
divide  the  possible  profits.     Thus  he  laid  the  scheme 


264  Cabbages  and  Kings 

before  White,  whom  he  had  known  in  the  West 

before  one  declared  for  Art  and  the  other  became  a 

Bedouin.. 

Before  long  the  two  machinators  abandoned  the 
rigour  of  the  bare  studio  for  a  snug  corner  of  a  cafe. 
There  they  sat  far  into  the  night,  with  old  envelopes 
and  Keogh's  stub  of  blue  pencil  between  them. 

At  twelve  o'clock  White  doubled  up  in  his  chair, 
with  his  chin  on  his  fist,  and  shut  his  eyes  at  the 
unbeautiful  wall-paper. 

"  I'll  go  you,  Billy,"  he  said,  in  the  quiet  tones  of 
decision.  "  I've  got  two  or  three  hundred  saved  up 
for  sausages  and  rent;  and  I'll  take  the  chance  with 
you.  Five  thousand!  It  will  give  me  two  years  in 
Paris  and  one  in  Italy.  I'll  begin  to  pack  to-mor- 
row." 

"You'll  begin  in  ten  minutes,"  said  Keogh.  "It's 
to-morrow  now.  The  Karlsefin  starts  back  at  four 
p.  m.     Come  on  to  your  painting  shop,  and  I'll  help 

you." 

For  five  months  in  the  year  Coralio  is  the  Newport 
of  Anchuria.  Then  only  does  the  town  possess  life. 
From  November  to  March  it  is  practically  thr  seat  of 


Masters  of  Arts  %(55 

government.  The  president  with  his  official  family 
sojourns  there;  and  society  follows  him.  The  pleas- 
ure-loving people  make  the  season  one  long  holiday 
of  amusement  and  rejoicing.  Fiestas,  balls,  games, 
sea  bathing,  processions  and  small  theatres  contrib- 
ute to  their  enjoyment.  The  famous  Swiss  band 
from  the  capital  plays  in  the  little  plaza  every  even- 
ing, while  the  fourteen  carriages  and  vehicles  in  the 
town  circle  in  funereal  but  complacent  procession. 
Indians  from  the  interior  mountains,  looking  like 
prehistoric  stone  idols,  come  down  to  peddle  their 
handiwork  in  the  streets.  The  people  throng  the 
narrow  ways,  a  chattering,  happy,  careless  stream 
of  buoyant  humanity.  Preposterous  children  rigged 
out  with  the  shortest  of  ballet  skirts  and  gilt  wings, 
howl,  underfoot,  among  the  effervescent  crowds. 
Especially  is  the  arrival  of  the  presidential  party,  at 
the  opening  of  the  season,  attended  with  pomp, 
show  and  patriotic  demonstrations  of  enthusiasm 
and  delight. 

When  Keogh  and  White  reached  their  destination, 
on  the  return  trip  of  the  Karlsefin,  the  gay  winter  sea- 
son was  well  begun.     As  they  stepped  upon  the 


266  Cabbages  and  Kings 

beach  they  could  hear  the  band  playing  in  the  plaza. 
The  village  maidens,  with  fireflies  already  fixed  in 
their  dark  locks,  were  gliding,  barefoot  and  coy- 
eyed,  along  the  paths.  Dandies  in  white  linen, 
swinging  their  canes,  were  beginning  their  seductive 
strolls.  The  air  was  full  of  human  essence,  of  arti- 
ficial enticement,  of  coquetry,  indolence,  pleasure  — 
the  man-made  sense  of  existence. 

The  first  two  or  three  days  after  their  arrival  were 
spent  in  preliminaries.  Keogh  escorted  the  artist 
about  town,  introducing  him  to  the  little  circle  of 
English-speaking  residents  and  pulling  whatever 
wires  he  could  to  effect  the  spreading  of  White's  fame 
as  a  painter.  And  then  Keogh  planned  a  more  spec- 
tacular demonstration  of  the  idea  he  wished  to  keep 
before  the  public. 

He  and  White  engaged  rooms  in  the  Hotel  de  los 
Estranjeros.  The  two  were  clad  in  new  suits  of 
immaculate  duck,  with  American  straw  hats,  and 
carried  canes  of  remarkable  uniqueness  and  inutility. 
Few  caballeros  in  Coralio  —  even  the  gorgeously  uni- 
formed officers  of  the  Anchurian  army  -—  were  as 
conspicuous  for  ease  and  elegance  of  demeanour  as 


Masters  of  Arts  267 

Keogh  and  his  friend,  the  great  American  painter, 
Sefior  White. 

White  set  up  his  easel  on  the  beach  and  made  strik- 
ing sketches  of  the  mountain  and  sea  views.  The 
native  population  formed  at  his  rear  in  a  vast,  chat- 
tering semicircle  to  watch  his  work.  Keogh,  with 
his  care  for  details,  had  arranged  for  himself  a  pose 
which  he  carried  out  with  fidelity.  His  role  was5  that 
of  friend  to  the  great  artist,  a  man  of  affairs  and 
leisure.  The  visible  emblem  of  his  position  was  a 
pocket  camera. 

"For  branding  the  man  who  owns  it,"  said  he, 
"a  genteel  dilettante  with  a  bank  account  and  an 
easy  conscience,  a  steam-yacht  aint  in  it  with  a 
camera.  You  see  a  man  doing  nothing  but  loafing 
around  making  snap-shots,  and  you  know  right  away 
he  reads  up  well  in  'Bradstreet.'  You  notice  these 
old  millionaire  boys  —  soon  a^ihey  get  through 
taking  everything  else  in  sight  they  go  to  taking 
photographs.  People  are  more  impressed  by  a 
kodak  than  they  are  by  a  title  or  a  four-carat 
scarf-pin."  So  Keogh  strolled  blandly  about 
Coralio,   snapping  the  scenery   and   the   shrinking 


268  Cabbages  and  Kings 

senoritas,  while  White  posed  conspicuously  in  the 

higher  regions  of  art. 

Two  weeks  after  their  arrival,  the  scheme  began  to 
bear  fruit.  An  aide-de-camp  of  the  president  drove 
to  the  hotel  in  a  dashing  victoria.  The  president 
desired  that  Sefior  White  come  to  the  Casa  Morena 
for  an  informal  interview. 

Keogh  gripped  his  pipe  tightly  between  his  teeth. 
"  Not  a  cent  less  than  ten  thousand,"  he  said  to  the 
artist  —  "  remember  the  price.  And  in  gold  or  its 
equivalent  —  don't  let  him  stick  you  with  this  bar- 
gain-counter stuff  they  call  money  here." 

"Perhaps  it  isn't  that  he  wants,"  said  White. 

"  Get  out ! "  said  Keogh,  with  splendid  confidence. 
"I  know  what  he  wants.  He  wants  his  picture 
painted  by  the  celebrated  young  American  painter 
and  filibuster  now  sojourning  in  his  down-trodden 
country.     Off  you^o." 

The  victoria  sped  away  with  the  artist.  Keogh 
walked  up  and  down,  puffing  great  clouds  of  smoke 
from  his  pipe,  and  waited.  In  an  hour  the  victoria 
swept  again  to  the  door  of  the  hotel,  deposited  White, 
and  vanished.     The   artist   dashed   up   the   stairs, 


Masters  of  Arts  269 

three  at  a  step.  Keogh  stopped  smoking,  and  be- 
came a  silent  interrogation  point. 

"  Landed,"  exclaimed  White,  with  his  boyish  face 
flushed  with  elation.  "  Billy,  you  are  a  wonder.  He 
wants  a  picture.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  By 
Heavens!  that  dictator  chap  is  a  corker!  He's  a 
dictator  clear  down  to  his  finger-ends.  He's  a  kind 
of  combination  of  Julius  Caesar,  Lucifer  and  Chaun- 
cey  Depew  done  in  sepia.  Polite  and  grim  —  that's 
his  way.  The  room  I  saw  him  in  was  about  ten 
acres  big,  and  looked  like  a  Mississippi  steamboat 
with  its  gilding  and  mirrors  and  white  paint.  He  talks 
English  better  than  I  can  ever  hope  to.  The  matter 
of  the  price  came  up.  I  mentioned  ten  thousand. 
I  expected  him  to  call  the  guard  and  have  me  taken 
out  and  shot.  He  didn't  move  an  eyelash.  He  just 
waved  one  of  his  chestnut  hands  in  a  careless  way, 
and  said,  'Whatever  you  say.'  I  am  to  go  back  to- 
morrow and  discuss  with  him  the  details  of  the 
picture." 

Keogh  hung  his  head.  Self-abasement  was  easy  to 
read  in  his  downcast  countenance. 

"I'm  failing,  Carry,"  he  said,  sorrowfully.    "I'm 


270  Cabbages  and  Kings 

not  fit  to  handle  these  man's-size  schemes  any  longer. 
Peddling  oranges  in  a  push-cart  is  about  the  suitable 
graft  for  me.  When  I  said  ten  thousand,  I  swear  I 
thought  I  had  sized  up  that  brown  man's  limit  to 
within  two  cents.  He'd  have  melted  down  for 
fifteen  thousand  just  as  easy.  Say  —  Carry  —  you'll 
see  old  man  Keogh  safe  in  some  nice,  quiet  idiot 
asylum,  won't  you,  if  he  makes  a  break  like  that 
again  ?  "    -< 

The  Casa  Morena,  although  only  one  story  in 
height,  was  a  building  of  brown  stone,  luxurious  as 
a  palace  in  its  interior.  It  stood  on  a  low  hill  in  a 
walled  garden  of  splendid  tropical  flora  at  the  upper 
edge  of  Coralio.  The  next  day  the  president's  car- 
riage came  again  for  the  artist.  Keogh  went  out  for 
a  walk  along  the  beach,  where  he  and  his  "picture 
box"  were  now  familiar  sights.  When  he  returned 
to  the  hotel  White  was  sitting  in  a  steamer-chair  on 
the  balcony. 

"  Well,"  said  Keogh,  "  did  you  and  His  Nibs  decide 
on  the  kind  of  a  chromo  he  wants  ?  " 

White  got  up  and  walked  back  and  forth  on  the 
balcony  a  few  times.     Then  he  stopped,  and  laughed 


Masters  of  Arts  271 

strangely.     His  face  was  flushed,  and  his  eyes  were 
bright  with  a  kind  of  angry  amusement. 

"Look  here,  Billy,"  he  said,  somewhat  roughly, 
"  when  you  first  came  to  me  in  my  studio  and  men- 
tioned a  picture,  I  thought  you  wanted  a  Smashed 
Oats  or  a  Hair  Tonic  poster  painted  on  a  range  of 
mountains  or  the  side  of  a  continent.  Well,  either 
of  those  jobs  would  have  been  Art  in  its  highest  form 
compared  to  the  one  you've  steered  me  against.  I 
can't  paint  that  picture,  Billy.  You've  got  to  let  me 
out.  Let  me  try  to  tell  you  what  that  barbarian 
wants.  He  had  it  all  planned  out  and  even  a  sketch 
made  of  his  idea.  The  old  boy  doesn't  draw  badly 
at  all.  But,  ye  goddesses  of  Art!  listen  to  the  mon- 
strosity he  expects  me  to  paint.  He  wants  himself 
in  the  centre  of  the  canvas,  of  course.  He  is  to  be 
painted  as  Jupiter  sitting  on  Olympus,  with  the 
clouds  at  his  feet.  At  one  side  of  him  stands  George 
Washington,  in  full  regimentals,  with  his  hand  on  the 
president's  shoulder.  An  angel  with  outstretched 
wings  hovers  overhead,  and  is  placing  a  laurel  wreath 
on  the  president's  head,  crowning  him  —  Queen  of 
the  May,  I  suppose.     In  the  background  is  to  be 


272  Cabbages  and  Kings 

cannon,  more  angels  and  soldiers.  The  man  who 
would  paint  that  picture  would  have  to  have  the  soul 
of  a  dog,  and  would  deserve  to  go  down  into  oblivion 
without  even  a  tin  can  tied  to  his  tail  to  sound  his 
memory.' ' 

Little  beads  of  moisture  crept  out  all  over  Billy 
Keogh's  brow.  The  stub  of  his  blue  pencil  had  not 
figured  out  a  contingency  like  this.  The  machinery 
of  his  plan  had  run  with  flattering  smoothness  until 
now.  He  dragged  another  chair  upon  the  balcony, 
and  got  White  back  to  his  seat.  He  lit  his  pipe  with 
apparent  calm. 

"  Now,  sonny,"  he  said,  with  gentle  grimness,  "  you 
and  me  will  have  an  Art  to  Art  talk.  You've  got  your 
art  and  I've  got  mine.  Yours  is  the  real  Pierian 
stuff  that  turns  up  its  nose  at  bock-beer  signs  and 
oleographs  of  the  Old  Mill.  Mine's  the  art  of 
Business.  This  was  my  scheme,  and  it  worked 
out  like  two-and-two.  Paint  that  president  man 
as  Old  King  Cole,  or  Venus,  or  a  landscape,  or 
a  fresco,  or  a  bunch  of  lilies,  or  anything  he  thinks 
he  looks  like.  But  get  the  paint  on  the  canvas  and 
collect  the  spoils.     You  wouldn't  throw  me  down, 


Masters  of  Arts  273 

Carry,  at  this  stage  of  the  game.  Think  of  that 
ten  thousand." 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  of  it,"  said  White,  and  that's 
what  hurts.  I'm  tempted  to  throw  every  ideal  I  ever 
had  down  in  the  mire,  and  steep  my  soul  in  infamy 
by  painting  that  picture.  That  five  thousand  meant 
three  years  of  foreign  study  to  me,  and  I'd  almost 
sell  my  soul  for  that." 

"  Now  it  ain't  as  bad  as  that,"  said  Keogh,  sooth- 
ingly. "It's  a  business  proposition.  It's  so  much 
paint  and  time  against  money.  I  don't  fall  in  with 
your  idea  that  that  picture  would  so  everlastingly  jolt 
the  art  side  of  the  question.  George  Washington 
was  all  right,  you  know,  and  nobody  could  say  a  word 
against  the  angel.  I  don't  think  so  bad  of  that  group. 
If  you  was  to  give  Jupiter  a  pair  of  epaulets  and  a 
sword,  and  kind  of  work  the  clouds  around  to  look 
like  a  blackberry  patch,  it  wouldn't  make  such  a  bad 
battle  scene.  Why,  if  we  hadn't  already  settled  on 
the  price,  he  ought  to  pay  an  extra  thousand  for 
Washington,  and  the  angel  ought  to  raise  it  five  hun- 
dred." 

"You  don't  understand,  Billy,"  said  White,  with 


274  Cabbages  and  Kings 

an  uneasy  laugh  "Some  of  us  fellows  who  try  to 
paint  have  big  notions  about  Art.  I  wanted  to  paint 
a  picture  some  day  that  people  would  stand  before 
and  forget  that  it  was  made  of  paint.  I  wanted  it  to 
creep  into  them  like  a  bar  of  music  and  mushroom 
there  like  a  soft  bullet.  And  I  wanted  'em  to  go 
away  and  ask,  *  What  else  has  he  done  ? '  And  I 
didn't  want  'em  to  find  a  thing;  not  a  portrait  nor 
a  magazine  cover  nor  an  illustration  nor  a  drawing 
of  a  girl  —  nothing  but  the  picture.  That's  why  I've 
lived  on  fried  sausages,  and  tried  to  keep  true  to 
myself.  I  persuaded  myself  to  do  this  portrait  for 
the  chance  it  might  give  me  to  study  abroad.  But 
this  howling,  screaming  caricature!  Good  Lord! 
can't  you  see  how  it  is  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Keogh,  as  tenderly  as  he  would  have 
spoken  to  a  child,  and  he  laid  a  long  forefinger  on 
White's  knee.  "I  see.  It's  bad  to  have  your  art 
all  slugged  up  like  that.  I  know.  You  wanted  to 
paint  a  big  thing  like  the  panorama  of  the  battle  of 
Gettysburg.  But  let  me  kalsomine  you  a  little  men- 
tal sketch  to  consider.  Up  to  date  we're  out  $385.50 
on  this  scheme.     Our  capital  took  every  cent  both 


Masters  of  Arts  275 

of  us  could  raise.  We've  got  about  enough  left  to 
get  back  to  New  York  on.  I  need  my  share  of  that 
ten  thousand.  I  want  to  work  a  copper  deal  in 
Idaho,  and  make  a  hundred  thousand.  That's  the 
business  end  of  the  thing.  Come  down  off  your  art 
perch,  Carry,  and  let's  land  that  hatful  of  dollars." 

"Billy,"  said  White,  with  an  effort,  "I'll  try.  I 
won't  say  I'll  do  it,  but  I'll  try.  I'll  go  at  it,  and  put 
it  through  if  I  can." 

"  That's  business,"  said  Keogh,  heartily.  "  Good 
boy!  Now,  here's  another  thing  —  rush  that  picture 
—  crowd  it  through  as  quick  as  you  can.  Get  a 
couple  of  boys  to  help  you  mix  the  paint  if  necessary. 
I've  picked  up  some  pointers  around  town.  The 
people  here  are  beginning  to  get  sick  of  Mr.  President. 
They  say  he's  been  too  free  with  concessions;  and 
they  accuse  him  of  trying  to  make  a  dicker  with  Eng- 
land to  sell  out  the  country.  We  want  that  picture 
done  and  paid  for  before  there's  any  row." 

In  the  great  patio  of  Casa  Morena,  the  president 
caused  to  be  stretched  a  huge  canvas.  Under  this 
White  set  up  his  temporary  studio.  For  two  hours 
each  day  the  great  man  sat  to  him. 


276  Cabbages  and  Kings 

White  worked  faithfully.  But,  as  the  work  pro- 
gressed, he  had  seasons  of  bitter  scorn,  of  infinite 
self -contempt,  of  sullen  gloom  and  sardonic  gaiety. 
Keogh,  with  the  patience  of  a  great  general,  soothed, 
coaxed,  argued  —  kept  him  at  the  picture. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  White  announced  that  the 
picture  was  completed  —  Jupiter,  Washington,  an- 
gels, clouds,  cannon  and  all.  His  face  was  pale  and 
his  mouth  drawn  straight  when  he  told  Keogh.  He 
said  the  president  was  much  pleased  with  it.  It  was 
to  be  hung  in  the  National  Gallery  of  Statesmen  and 
Heroes.  The  artist  had  been  requested  to  return  to 
Casa  Morena  on  the  following  day  to  receive  pay- 
ment. At  the  appointed  time  he  left  the  hotel,  silent 
under  his  friend's  joyful  talk  of  their  success. 

An  hour  later  he  walked  into  the  room  where 
Keogh  was  waiting,  threw  his  hat  on  the  floor,  and 
sat  upon  the  table. 

"  Billy,"  he  said,  in  strained  and  labouring  tones, 
"  I've  a  little  money  out  West  in  a  small  business  that 
my  brother  is  running.  It's  what  I've  been  living  on 
while  I've  been  studying  art.  I'll  draw  out  my  share 
and  pay  you  back  what  you've  lost  on  this  scheme." 


Masters  of  Arts  277 

"  Lost ! "  exclaimed  Keogh,  jumping  up.  u  Didn't 
you  get  paid  for  the  picture  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  got  paid,"  said  White.  "But  just  now 
there  isn't  any  picture,  and  there  isn't  any  pay.  If 
you  care  to  hear  about  it,  here  are  the  edifying  de- 
tails. The  president  and  I  were  looking  at  the  paint- 
ing. His  secretary  brought  a  bank  draft  on  New 
York  for  ten  thousand  dollars  and  handed  it  to  me. 
The  moment  I  touched  it  I  went  wild.  I  tore  it  into 
little  pieces  and  threw  them  on  the  floor.  A  work- 
man was  repainting  the  pillars  inside  the  patio.  A 
bucket  of  his  paint  happened  to  be  convenient.  I 
picked  up  his  brush  and  slapped  a  quart  of  blue  paint 
all  over  that  ten-thousand-dollar  nightmare.  I  bowed, 
and  walked  out.  The  president  didn't  move  or 
speak.  That  was  one  time  he  was  taken  by  surprise. 
It's  tough  on  you,  Billy,  but  I  couldn't  help  it." 

There  seemed  to  be  excitement  in  Coralio.  Out- 
side there  was  a  confused,  rising  murmur  pierced  by 
high-pitched  cries.  "Bajo  el  traidor  —  Muerte  el 
traidor  I "  were  the  words  they  seemed  to  form. 

"Listen  to  that!"  exclaimed  White,  bitterly;  "I 
know  that  much  Spanish.     They're  shouting, '  Down 


278  Cabbages  and  Kings 

with  the  traitor!'  I  heard  them  before.  I  felt  that 
they  meant  me.  I  was  a  traitor  to  Art.  The  picture 
had  to  go." 

"  '  Down  with  the  blank  fool '  would  have  suited 
your  case  better,"  said  Keogh,  with  fiery  emphasis. 
"You  tear  up  ten  thousand  dollars  like  an  old  rag 
because  the  way  you've  spread  on  five  dollars'  worth 
of  paint  hurts  your  conscience.  Next  time  I  pick  a 
side-partner  in  a  scheme  the  man  has  got  to  go  before 
a  notary  and  swear  he  never  even  heard  the  word 
*  ideal '  mentioned." 

Keogh  strode  from  the  room,  white-hot.  White 
paid  little  attention  to  his  resentment.  The  scorn  of 
Billy  Keogh  seemed  a  trifling  thing  beside  the  greater 
self -scorn  he  had  escaped. 

In  Coralio  the  excitement  waxed.  An  outburst 
was  imminent.  The  cause  of  this  demonstration 
of  displeasure  was  the  presence  in  the  town  of  a  big, 
pink-cheeked  Englishman,  who,  it  was  said,  was  an 
agent  of  his  government  come  to  clinch  the  bargain 
by  which  the  president  placed  his  people  in  the  hands 
of  a  foreign  power.  It  was  charged  that  not  only  had 
he  given  away  priceless  concessions,  but  that  the 


Masters  of  Arts  279 

public  debt  was  to  be  transferred  into  the  hands  of 
the  English,  and  the  custom-houses  turned  over  to 
them  as  a  guarantee.  The  long-enduring  people  had 
determined  to  make  their  protest  felt. 

On  that  night,  in  Coralio  and  in  other  towns,  their 
ire  found  vent.  Yelling  mobs,  mercurial  but  danger- 
ous, roamed  the  streets.  They  overthrew  the  great 
bronze  statue  of  the  president  that  stood  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  plaza,  and  hacked  it  to  shapeless  pieces. 
They  tore  from  public  buildings  the  tablets  set  there 
proclaiming  the  glory  of  the  "Illustrious  Liberator." 
His  pictures  in  the  government  offices  were  demol- 
ished. The  mobs  even  attacked  the  Casa  Morena, 
but  were  driven  away  by  the  military,  which  remained 
faithful  to  the  executive.  All  the  night  terror 
reigned. 

The  greatness  of  Losada  was  shown  by  the  fact 
that  by  noon  the  next  day  order  was  restored,  and  he 
was  still  absolute.  He  issued  proclamations  deny- 
ing positively  that  any  negotiation  of  any  kind  had 
been  entered  into  with  England.  Sir  Stafford  Vaughn, 
the  pink-cheeked  Englishman,  also  declared  in  plac- 
ards and  in  public  print  that  his  presence  there  had 


280  Cabbages  and  Kings 

no  international  significance.  He  was  a  traveller 
without  guile.  In  fact  (so  he  stated) ,  he  had  not  even 
spoken  with  the  president  or  been  in  his  presence 
since  his  arrival. 

During  this  disturbance,  White  was  preparing  for 
his  homeward  voyage  in  the  steamship  that  was  to 
sail  within  two  or  three  days.  About  noon,  Keogh, 
the  restless,  took  his  camera  out  with  the  hope  of 
speeding  the  lagging  hours.  The  town  was  now  as 
quiet  as  if  peace  had  never  departed  from  her  perch 
on  the  red-tiled  roofs. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  Keogh  hurried 
back  to  the  hotel  with  something  decidedly  special 
in  his  air.  He  retired  to  the  little  room  where  he  de- 
veloped his  pictures. 

Later  on  he  came  out  to  White  on  the  balcony, 
with  a  luminous,  grim,  predatory  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  "  he  asked,  holding 
up  a  4x5  photograph  mounted  on  cardboard. 

"  Snap-shot  of  a  senorita  sitting  in  the  sand  —  allit- 
eration unintentional,"  guessed  White,  lazily. 

"Wrong,"  said  Keogh  with  shining  eyes.  "It's 
a  slung-shot.     It's  a  can  of  dynamite.     It's  a  gold 


Masters  of  Arts  281 

mine.  It's  a  sight j  draft  on  your  president  man  for 
twenty  thousand  dollars  —  yes,  sir  —  twenty  thou- 
sand this  time,  and  no  spoiling  the  picture.  No 
ethics  of  art  in  the  way.  Art !  You  with  your  smelly 
little  tubes!  I've  got  you  skinned  to  death  with  a 
kodak.     Take  a  look  at  that." 

White  took  the  picture  in  his  hand,  and  gave  a  long 
whistle. 

"  Jove! "  he  exclaimed,  "but  wouldn't  that  stir  up 
a  row  in  town  if  you  let  it  be  seen.  How  in  the  world 
did  you  get  it,  Billy  ?  " 

"You  know  that  high  wall  around  the  president 
man's  back  garden?  I  was  up  there  trying  to  get 
a  bird's-eye  of  the  town.  I  happened  to  notice  a 
chink  in  the  wall  where  a  stone  and  a  lot  of  plaster 
had  slid  out.  Thinks  I,  I'll  take  a  peep  through  to 
see  how  Mr.  President's  cabbages  are  growing.  The 
first  thing  I  saw  was  him  and  this  Sir  Englishman  sit- 
ting at  a  little  table  about  twenty  feet  away.  They 
had  the  table  all  spread  over  with  documents,  and 
they  were  hobnobbing  over  them  as  thick  as  two 
pirates.  'Twas  a  nice  corner  of  the  garden,  all 
private  and  shady  with  palms  and  orange  trees,  and 


282  Cabbages  and  Kings 

they  had  a  pail  of  champagne  set  by  handy  in  the 
grass.  I  knew  then  was  the  time  for  me  to  make  my 
big  hit  in  Art.  So  I  raised  the  machine  up  to  the 
crack,  and  pressed  the  button.  Just  as  I  did  so  them 
old  boys  shook  hands  on  the  deal  —  you  see  they 
took  that  way  in  the  picture." 

Keogh  put  on  his  coat  and  hat. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  "  asked  White. 

"  Me, "  said  Keogh  in  a  hurt  tone,  "  why,  I'm  going 
to  tie  a  pink  ribbon  to  it  and  hang  it  on  the  what-not, 
of  course.  I'm  surprised  at  you.  But  while  I'm  out 
you  just  try  to  figure  out  what  ginger-cake  potentate 
would  be  most  likely  to  want  to  buy  this  work  of 
art  for  his  private  collection  —  just  to  keep  it  out  of 
circulation." 

The  sunset  was  reddening  the  tops  of  the  cocoanut 
palms  when  Billy  Keogh  came  back  from  Casa  Mo- 
rena.  He  nodded  to  the  artist's  questioning  gaze; 
and  lay  down  on  a  cot  with  his  hands  under  the  back 
of  his  head. 

"  I  saw  him.  He  paid  the  money  like  a  little  man. 
They  didn't  want  to  let  me  in  at  first.  I  told  'em  it 
was  important.     Yes,  that  president  man  is  on  the 


Masters  of  Arts  283 

plenty-able  list.  He's  got  a  beautiful  business  system 
about  the  way  he  uses  his  brains.  All  I  had  to  do 
was  to  hold  up  the  photograph  so  he  could  see  it,  and 
name  the  price.  He  just  smiled,  and  walked  over  to 
a  safe  and  got  the  cash.  Twenty  one-thousand-dol- 
lar brand-new  United  States  Treasury  notes  he  laid 
on  the  table,  like  I'd  pay  out  a  dollar  and  a  quarter. 
Fine  notes,  too  —  they  crackled  with  a  sound  like 
burning  the  brush  off  a  ten-acre  lot. " 

"  Let's  try  the  feel  of  one, "  said  White,  curiously. 
"I  never  saw  a  thousand-dollar  bill."  Keogh  did 
not  immediately  respond. 

"  Carry, "  he  said,  in  an  absent-minded  way,  "  you 
think  a  heap  of  your  art,  don't  you  ? " 

"  More, "  said  White,  frankly,  "  than  has  been  for 
the  financial  good  of  myself  and  my  friends.  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  fool  the  other  day, "  went  on 
Keogh,  quietly,  "and  I'm  not  sure  now  that  you 
wasn't.  But  if  you  was,  so  am  I.  I've  been  in  some 
funny  deals,  Carry,  but  I've  always  managed  to 
scramble  fair,  and  match  my  brains  and  capital 
against  the  other  fellow's.  But  when  it  comes  to  — 
well,  when  you've  got  the  other  fellow  cinched,  and  the 


284  Cabbages  and  Kings 

screws  on  him,  and  he's  got  to  put  up  —  why,  it  don't 
strike  me  as  being  a  man's  game.  They've  got  a  name 
for  it,  you  know;  it's  —  confound  you,  don't  you  un- 
derstand. A  fellow  feels  —  it's  something  like  that 
blamed  art  of  yours  —  he  —  well,  I  tore  that  photo- 
graph up  and  laid  the  pieces  on  that  stack  of  money 
and  shoved  the  whole  business  back  across  the  table. 
'  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Losada, '  I  said,  *  but  I  guess  I've 
made  a  mistake  in  the  price.  You  get  the  photo  for 
nothing.'  Now,  Carry,  you  get  out  the  pencil,  and 
we'll  do  some  more  figuring.  I'd  like  to  save  enough 
out  of  our  capital  for  you  to  have  some  fried  sausages 
in  your  joint  when  you  get  back  to  New  York. " 


CHAPTER     FIFTEEN 

Dicky 


1  HERE  is  little  consecutiveness  along  the  Spanish 
Main.  Things  happen  there  intermittently.  Even 
Time  seems  to  hang  his  scythe  daily  on  the  branch  of 
an  orange  tree  while  he  takes  a  siesta  and  a  cigarette. 

After  the  ineffectual  revolt  against  the  administra- 
tion of  President  Losada,  the  country  settled  again 
into  quiet  toleration  of  the  abuses  with  which  he  had 
been  charged.  In  Coralio  old  political  enemies  went 
arm-in-arm,  lightly  eschewing  for  the  time  all  differ- 
ences of  opinion. 

The  failure  of  the  art  expedition  did  not  stretch  the 
cat-footed  Keogh  upon  his  back.  The  ups  and  downs 
of  Fortune  made  smooth  travelling  for  his  nimble 
steps.     His  blue  pencil  stub  was  at  work  again  be- 


286  Cabbages  and  Kings 

fore  the  smoke  of  the  steamer  on  which  White  sailed 
had  cleared  away  from  the  horizon.  He  had  but  to 
speak  a  word  to  Geddie  to  find  his  credit  negotiable 
for  whatever  goods  he  wanted  from  the  store  of 
Brannigan  &  Company.  On  the  same  day  on  which 
White  arrived  in  New  York  Keogh,  at  the  rear  of  a 
train  of  five  pack  mules  loaded  with  hardware  and 
cutlery,  set  his  face  toward  the  grim,  interior  moun- 
tains. There  the  Indian  tribes  wash  gold  dust  from 
the  auriferous  streams ;  and  when  a  market  is  brought 
to  them  trading  is  brisk  and  muy  bueno  in  the  Cor- 
dilleras. 

In  Coralio  Time  folded  his  wings  and  paced  weari- 
ly along  his  drowsy  path.  They  who  had  most 
cheered  the  torpid  hours  were  gone.  Clancy  had 
sailed  on  a  Spanish  barque  for  Colon,  contemplating 
a  cut  across  the  isthmus  and  then  a  further  voyage  to 
end  at  Callao,  where  the  fighting  was  said  to  be  on. 
Geddie,  whose  quiet  and  genial  nature  had  once 
served  to  mitigate  the  frequent  dull  reaction  of  lotus 
eating,  was  now  a  home-man,  happy  with  his  bright 
orchid,  Paula,  and  never  even  dreaming  of  or  regret- 
ting the  unsolved,  sealed  and  monogramed  Bottle, 


Dicky  287 

whose  contents,  now  inconsiderable,  were  held  safely 
in  the  keeping  of  the  sea. 

Well  may  the  Walrus,  most  discerning  and  eclectic 
of  beasts,  place  sealing-wax  midway  on  his  pro- 
gramme of  topics  that  fall  pertinent  and  diverting 
upon  the  ear. 

Atwood  was  gone  —  he  of  the  hospitable  back 
porch  and  ingenuous  cunning.  Dr.  Gregg,  with  his 
trepanning  story  smouldering  within  him,  was  a 
whiskered  volcano,  always  showing  signs  of  immi- 
nent eruption,  and  was  not  to  be  considered  in  the 
ranks  of  those  who  might  contribute  to  the  ameliora- 
tion of  ennui.  The  new  consul's  note  chimed  with 
the  sad  sea  waves  and  the  violent  tropical  greens  — 
he  had  not  a  bar  of  Scheherezade  or  of  the  Round 
Table  in  his  lute.  Goodwin  was  employed  with 
large  projects :  what  time  he  was  loosed  from  them 
found  him  at  his  home,  where  he  loved  to  be.  There- 
fore it  will  be  seen  that  there  was  a  dearth  of  fellow- 
ship and  entertainment  among  the  foreign  contingent 
of  Coralio. 

And  then  Dicky  Maloney  dropped  down  from  the 
clouds  upon  the  town,  and  amused  it. 


288  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Nobody  knew  where  Dicky  Maloney  hailed  from 
or  how  he  reached  Coralio.  He  appeared  there  one 
day;  and  that  was  all.  He  afterward  said  that  he 
came  on  the  fruit  steamer  Thor;  but  an  inspection 
of  the  Thor's  passenger  list  of  that  date  was  found  to 
be  Maloneyless.  Curiosity,  however,  soon  perished; 
and  Dicky  took  his  place  among  the  odd  fish  cast  up 
by  the  Caribbean. 

He  was  an  active,  devil-may-care,  rollicking  fellow 
with  an  engaging  gray  eye,  the  most  irresistible  grin, 
a  rather  dark  or  much  sunburned  complexion,  and  a 
head  of  the  fieriest  red  hair  ever  seen  in  that  country. 
Speaking  the  Spanish  language  as  well  as  he  spoke 
English,  and  seeming  always  to  have  plenty  of  silver 
in  his  pockets,  it  was  not  long  before  he  was  a  wel- 
come companion  whithersoever  he  went.  He  had  an 
extreme  fondness  for  vino  bianco,  and  gained  the  rep- 
utation of  being  able  to  drink  more  of  it  than  any 
three  men  in  town.  Everybody  called  him  "  Dicky  " ; 
everybody  cheered  up  at  the  sight  of  him  —  especially 
the  natives,  to  whom  his  marvellous  red  hair  and  his 
free-and-easy  style  were  a  constant  delight  and  envy. 
Wherever  you  went  in  the  town  you  would  soon  see 


Dicky  289 

Dicky  or  hear  his  genial  laugh,  and  find  around  him  a 
group  of  admirers  who  appreciated  him  both  for  his 
good  nature  and  the  white  wine  he  was  always  so 
ready  to  buy. 

A  considerable  amount  of  speculation  was  had  con- 
cerning the  object  of  his  sojourn  there,  until  one  day 
he  silenced  this  by  opening  a  small  shop  for  the  sale 
of  tobacco,  dulces  and  the  handiwork  of  the  interior 
Indians  —  fibre-and-silk-woven  goods,  deerskin  za- 
patos  and  basketwork  of  tule  reeds.  Even  then  he 
did  not  change  his  habits;  for  he  was  drinking  and 
playing  cards  half  the  day  and  night  with  the  coman- 
dante,  the  collector  of  customs,  the  Jefe  Politico  and 
other  gay  dogs  among  the  native  officials. 

One  day  Dicky  saw  Pasa,  the  daughter  of  Mada- 
ma  Ortiz,  sitting  in  the  side-door  of  the  Hotel  des  los 
Estranjeros.  He  stopped  in  his  tracks,  still,  for  the 
first  time  in  Coralio;  and  then  he  sped,  swift  as  a  deer, 
to  find  Vasquez,  a  gilded  native  youth,  to  present  him. 

The  young  men  had  named  Pasa  "La  Santita 
Naranjadita. "  Naranjadita  is  a  Spanish  word  for 
a  certain  colour  that  you  must  go  to  more  trouble  to 
describe  in  English.     By  saying  "The  little  saint, 


290  Cabbages  and  Kings 

tinted  the  most  beautiful-delicate-slightly-orange- 
golden, "  you  will  approximate  the  description  of 
Madama  Ortiz's  daughter. 

La  Madama  Ortiz  sold  rum  in  addition  to  other 
liquors.  Now,  you  must  know  that  the  rum  expiates 
whatever  opprobrium  attends  upon  the  other  com- 
modities. For  rum-making,  mind  you,  is  a  gov- 
ernment monopoly;  and  to  keep  a  government 
dispensary  assures  respectability  if  not  preeminence. 
Moreover,  the  saddest  of  precisians  could  find  no 
fault  with  the  conduct  of  the  shop.  Customers 
drank  there  in  the  lowest  of  spirits  and  fearsomely, 
as  in  the  shadow  of  the  dead;  for  Madama's  ancient 
and  vaunted  lineage  counteracted  even  the  rum's 
behest  to  be  merry.  For,  was  she  not  of  the  Iglesias, 
who  landed  with  Pizarro  ?  And  had  not  her  deceased 
husband  been  comisionado  de  caminos  y  puentes  for 
the  district  ? 

In  the  evenings  Pasa  sat  by  the  window  in  the  room 
next  to  the  one  where  they  drank,  and  strummed 
dreamily  upon  her  guitar.  And  then,  by  twos  and 
threes,  would  come  visiting  young  caballeros  and  oc- 
cupy the  prim  line  of  chairs  set  against  the  wall  of  this 


Dicky  291 

room.  They  were  there  to  besiege  the  heart  of  "  La 
Santita.  "  Their  method  (which  is  not  proof  against 
intelligent  competition)  consisted  of  expanding  the 
chest,  looking  valorous,  and  consuming  a  gross  or  two 
of  cigarettes.  Even  saints  delicately  oranged  pre- 
fer to  be  wooed  differently. 

Dona  Pasa  would  tide  over  the  vast  chasms  of  nico- 
tinized  silence  with  music  from  her  guitar,  while  she 
wondered  if  the  romances  she  had  read  about  gallant 
and  more  —  more  contiguous  cavaliers  were  all  lies. 
At  somewhat  regular  intervals  Madama  would  glide 
in  from  the  dispensary  with  a  sort  of  drought-sug- 
gesting gleam  in  her  eye,  and  there  would  be  a 
rustling  of  stiffly-starched  white  trousers  as  one  of 
the  caballeros  would  propose  an  adjournment  to 
the  bar. 

That  Dicky  Maloney  would,  sooner  or  later,  ex- 
plore this  field  was  a  thing  to  be  foreseen.  There 
were  few  doors  in  Coralio  into  which  his  red  head  had 
not  been  poked. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  after  his  first 
sight  of  her  he  was  there,  seated  close  beside  her  rock- 
ing   chair.     There    were    no    back-against-the-wall 


292  Cabbages  and  Kings 

poses  in  Dicky's  theory  of  wooing.  His  plan  of  sub- 
jection was  an  attack  at  close  range.  To  carry  the 
fortress  with  one  concentrated,  ardent,  eloquent,  ir- 
resistible escalade  —  that  was  Dicky's  way. 

Pasa  was  descended  from  the  proudest  Spanish 
families  in  the  country.  Moreover,  she  had  had 
unusual  advantages.  Two  years  in  a  New  Orleans 
school  had  elevated  her  ambitions  and  fitted  her  for 
a  fate  above  the  ordinary  maidens  of  her  native 
land.  And  yet  here  she  succumbed  to  the  first  red- 
haired  scamp  with  a  glib  tongue  and  a  charming 
smile  that  came  along  and  courted  her  properly. 

Very  soon  Dicky  took  her  to  the  little  church  on  the 
corner  of  the  plaza,  and  "  Mrs.  Maloney  "  was  added 
to  her  string  of  distinguished  names. 

And  it  was  her  fate  to  sit,  with  her  patient,  saintly 
eyes  and  figure  like  a  bisque  Psyche,  behind  the  se- 
questered counter  of  the  little  shop,  while  Dicky  drank 
and  philandered  with  his  frivolous  acquaintances. 

The  women,  with  their  naturally  fine  instinct,  saw 
a  chance  for  vivisection,  and  delicately  taunted  her 
with  his  habits.  She  turned  upon  them  in  a  beauti- 
ful, steady  blaze  of  sorrowful  contempt. 


Dicky  293 

"  You  meat-cows, "  she  said,  in  her  level,  crystal- 
clear  tones;  "you  know  nothing  of  a  man.  Your 
men  are  maromeros.  They  are  fit  only  to  roll  ciga- 
rettes in  the  shade  until  the  sun  strikes  and  shrivels 
them  up.  They  drone  in  your  hammocks  and  you 
comb  their  hair  and  feed  them  with  fresh  fruit.  My 
man  is  of  no  such  blood.  Let  him  drink  of  the  wine. 
When  he  has  taken  sufficient  of  it  to  drown  one  of 
your  flaccitos  he  will  come  home  to  me  more  of  a  man 
than  one  thousand  of  your  pobrecitos.  My  hair  he 
smoothes  and  braids ;  to  me  he  sings ;  he  himself  re- 
moves my  zapatos,  and  there,  there,  upon  each  instep 
leaves  a  kiss.  He  holds  —  Oh,  you  will  never 
understand!  Blind  ones  who  have  never  known  a 
man. " 

Sometimes  mysterious  things  happened  at  night 
about  Dicky's  shop.  While  the  front  of  it  was  dark, 
in  the  little  room  back  of  it  Dicky  and  a  few  of  his 
friends  would  sit  about  a  table  carrying  on  some  kind 
of  very  quiet  negocios  until  quite  late.  Finally  he 
would  let  them  out  the  front  door  very  carefully,  and 
go  upstairs  to  his  little  saint.  These  visitors  were 
generally  conspirator-like  men  with  dark  clothes  and 


294  Cabbages  and  Kings 

hats.     Of  course,  these  dark  doings  were  noticed 

after  a  while,  and  talked  about. 

Dicky  seemed  to  care  nothing  at  all  for  the  society 
of  the  alien  residents  of  the  town.  He  avoided  Good- 
win, and  his  skilful  escape  from  the  trepanning  story 
of  Dr.  Gregg  is  still  referred  to,  in  Coralio,  as  a  mas- 
terpiece of  lightning  diplomacy. 

Many  letters  arrived,  addressed  to  "Mr.  Dicky 
Maloney, "  or  "  Sefior  Dickee  Maloney, "  to  the  con- 
siderable pride  of  Pasa.  That  so  many  people  should 
desire  to  write  to  him  only  confirmed  her  own  suspi- 
cion that  the  light  from  his  red  head  shone  around  the 
world.  As  to  their  contents  she  never  felt  curiosity. 
There  was  a  wife  for  you ! 

The  one  mistake  Dicky  made  in  Coralio  was  to  run 
out  of  money  at  the  wrong  time.  Where  his  money 
came  from  was  a  puzzle,  for  the  sales  of  his  shop  were 
next  to  nothing,  but  that  source  failed,  and  at  a  pe- 
culiarly unfortunate  time.  It  was  when  the  coman- 
dante,  Don  Sefior  el  Coronel  Encarnacion  Rios, 
looked  upon  the  little  saint  seated  in  the  shop  and 
felt  his  heart  go  pitapat. 

The  comandante,  who  was  versed  in  all  the  intri- 


Dicky  295 

cate  arts  of  gallantry,  first  delicately  hinted  at  his  sen- 
timents by  donning  his  dress  uniform  and  strutting 
up  and  down  fiercely  before  her  window.  Pasa, 
glancing  demurely  with  her  saintly  eyes,  instantly  per- 
ceived his  resemblance  to  her  parrot,  Chichi,  and  was 
diverted  to  the  extent  of  a  smile.  The  comandante 
saw  the  smile,  which  was  not  intended  for  him.  Con- 
vinced of  an  impression  made,  he  entered  the  shop, 
confidently,  and  advanced  to  open  compliment.  Pasa 
froze;  he  pranced;  she  flamed  royally;  he  was  charmed 
to  injudicious  persistence;  she  commanded  him  to 
leave  the  shop;  he  tried  to  capture  her  hand,  and  — 
Dicky  entered,  smiling  broadly,  full  of  white  wine  and 
the  devil. 

He  spent  five  minutes  in  punishing  the  comandante 
scientifically  and  carefully,  so  that  the  pain  might  be 
prolonged  as  far  as  possible.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
he  pitched  the  rash  wooer  out  the  door  upon  the 
stones  of  the  street,  senseless. 

A  barefooted  policeman  who  had  been  watching 
the  affair  from  across  the  street  blew  a  whistle.  A 
squad  of  four  soldiers  came  running  from  the  cuartel 
around  the  corner      When  they  saw  that  the  offender 


296  Cabbages  and  Kings 

was  Dicky,  they  stopped,  and  blew  more  whistles, 
which  brought  out  reinforcements  of  eight.  Deem- 
ing the  odds  against  them  sufficiently  reduced,  the 
military  advanced  upon  the  disturber. 

Dicky,  being  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  martial 
spirit,  stooped  and  drew  the  comandante's  sword, 
which  was  girded  about  him,  and  charged  his  foe. 
He  chased  the  standing  army  four  squares,  playfully 
prodding  its  squealing  rear  and  hacking  at  its 
ginger-coloured  heels. 

But  he  was  not  so  successful  with  the  civic  authori- 
ties. Six  muscular,  nimble  policemen  overpowered 
him  and  conveyed  him,  triumphantly  but  warily,  to 
jail.  "El  Diablo  Colorado'9  they  dubbed  him,  and 
derided  the  military  for  its  defeat. 

Dicky,  with  the  rest  of  the  prisoners,  could  look  out 
through  the  barred  door  at  the  grass  of  the  little  plaza, 
at  a  row  of  orange  trees  and  the  red  tile  roofs  and 
'dobe  walls  of  a  line  of  insignificant  stores. 

At  sunset  along  a  path  across  this  plaza  came  a 
melancholy  procession  of  sad-faced  women  bearing 
plantains,  cassaba,  bread  and  fruit  —  each  coming 
with  food  to  some  wretch  behind  those  bars  to  whom 


Dicky  297 

she  still  clung  and  furnished  the  means  of  life.  Twice 
a  day  —  morning  and  evening  —  they  were  permitted 
to  come.  Water  was  furnished  to  her  compulsory 
guests  by  the  republic,  but  no  food. 

That  evening  Dicky's  name  was  called  by  the  sen- 
try, and  he  stepped  before  the  bars  of  the  door.  There 
stood  his  little  saint,  a  black  mantilla  draped  about 
her  head  and  shoulders,  her  face  like  glorified  melan- 
choly, her  clear  eyes  gazing  longingly  at  him  as  if  they 
might  draw  him  between  the  bars  to  her.  She 
brought  a  chicken,  some  oranges,  dulces  and  a  loaf  of 
white  bread.  A  soldier  inspected  the  food,  and  passed 
it  in  to  Dicky.  Pasa  spoke  calmly,  as  she  always 
did,  and  briefly,  in  her  thrilling,  flute-like  tones.  "  An- 
gel of  my  life, "  she  said,  "  let  it  not  be  long  that  thou 
art  away  from  me.  Thou  knowest  that  life  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  endured  with  thou  not  at  my  side.  Tell 
me  if  I  can  do  aught  in  this  matter.  If  not,  I  will 
wait  —  a  little  while.     I  come  again  in  the  morning.  " 

Dicky,  with  his  shoes  removed  so  as  not  to  disturb 
his  fellow  prisoners,  tramped  the  floor  of  the  jail  half 
the  night  condemning  his  lack  of  money  and  the 
cause  of  it  —  whatever  that  might  have  been.     He 


298  Cabbages  and  Kings 

knew  very  well  that  money  would  have  bought  his  re- 
lease at  once. 

For  two  days  succeeding  Pasa  came  at  the  appoint- 
ed times  and  brought  him  food.  He  eagerly  inquired 
each  time  if  a  letter  or  package  had  come  for  him,  and 
she  mournfully  shook  her  head. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  she  brought  only  a 
small  loaf  of  bread.  There  were  dark  circles  under 
her  eyes.     She  seemed  as  calm  as  ever. 

"By  jingo,"  said. Dicky,  who  seemed  to  speak  in 
English  or  Spanish  as  the  whim  seized  him,  "this  is 
dry  provender,  muchachita.  Is  this  the  best  you  can 
dig  up  for  a  fellow  ?  " 

Pasa  looked  at  him  as  a  mother  looks  at  a  beloved 
but  capricious  babe. 

"Think  better  of  it,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice; 
"  since  for  the  next  meal  there  will  be  nothing.  The 
last  centavo  is  spent. "  She  pressed  closer  against  the 
grating. 

"  Sell  the  goods  in  the  shop  —  take  anything  for 
them. " 

"  Have  I  not  tried  ?  Did  I  not  offer  them  for  one- 
tenth  their  cost  ?     Not  even  one  peso  would  any  one 


Dicky  299 

give.  There  is  not  one  real  in  this  town  to  assist 
Dickee  Malonee. " 

Dick  clenched  his  teeth  grimly.  "  That's  the  co- 
mandantey "  he  growled.  "  He's  responsible  for  that 
sentiment.     Wait,  oh,  wait  till  the  cards  are  all  out. " 

Pasa  lowered  her  voice  to  almost  a  whisper.  "  And, 
listen,  heart  of  my  heart, "  she  said,  "  I  have  endeav- 
oured to  be  brave,  but  I  cannot  live  without  thee. 
Three  days  now — " 

Dicky  caught  a  faint  gleam  of  steel  from  the  folds 
of  her  mantilla.  For  once  she  looked  in  his  face  and 
saw  it  without  a  smile,  stern,  menacing  and  purpose- 
ful. Then  he  suddenly  raised  his  hand  and  his  smile 
came  back  like  a  gleam  of  sunshine.  The  hoarse  sig- 
nal of  an  incoming  steamer's  siren  sounded  in  the  har- 
bour. Dicky  called  to  the  sentry  who  was  pacing  be- 
fore the  door  :  "  What  steamer  comes  ?  " 

"The  Catarina." 

"Of  the  Vesuvius  line?" 

"Without  doubt,  of  that  line. " 

"  Go  you,  'picarilla"  said  Dicky  joyously  to  Pasa, 
"  to  the  American  consul.  Tell  him  I  wish  to  speak 
with  him.  See  that  he  comes  at  once,  And  look  you !  let 


300  Cabbages  and  Kings 

me  see  a  different  look  in  those  eyes,  for  I  promise 

your  head  shall  rest  upon  this  arm  to-night. " 

It  was  an  hour  before  the  consul  came.  He  held 
his  green  umbrella  under  his  arm,  and  mopped  his 
forehead  impatiently. 

"  Now,  see  here,  Maloney, "  he  began,  captiously, 
"you  fellows  seem  to  think  you  can  cut  up  any  kind 
of  row,  and  expect  me  to  pull  you  out  of  it.  I'm 
neither  the  War  Department  nor  a  gold  mine.  This 
country  has  its  laws,  you  know,  and  there's  one  against 
pounding  the  senses  out  of  the  regular  army.  You 
Irish  are  forever  getting  into  trouble.  I  don't  see 
what  I  can  do.  Anything  like  tobacco,  now,  to  make 
you  comfortable  —  or  newspapers  —  " 

"Son  of  Eli,"  interrupted  Dicky,  gravely,  "you 
haven't  changed  an  iota.  That  is  almost  a  duplicate 
of  the  speech  you  made  when  old  Koen's  donkeys  and 
geese  got  into  the  chapel  loft,  and  the  culprits  wanted 
to  hide  in  your  room. " 

"Oh,  heavens!"  exclaimed  the  consul,  hurriedly 
adjusting  his  spectacles.  "  Are  you  a  Yale  man,  too  ? 
Were  you  in  that  crowd  ?  I  don't  seem  to  remember 
any  one  with  red  —  any  one  named  Maloney.    Such  a 


Dicky  301 

lot  of  college  men  seem  to  have  misused  their  advan- 
tages. One  of  the  best  mathematicians  of  the  class  of 
'91  is  selling  lottery  tickets  in  Belize.  A  Cornell  man 
dropped  off  here  last  month.  He  was  second  steward 
on  a  guano  boat.  I'll  write  to  the  department  if  you 
like,  Maloney,  Or  if  there's  any  tobacco,  or  news- 
pa— " 

"There's  nothing,"  interrupted  Dicky,  shortly, 
"but  this.  You  go  tell  the  captain  of  the  Catarina 
that  Dicky  Maloney  wants  to  see  him  as  soon  as 
he  can  conveniently  come.  Tell  him  where  I  am. 
Hurry.     That's  all. " 

The  consul,  glad  to  be  let  off  so  easily,  hurried 
away.  The  captain  of  the  Catarina,  a  stout  man, 
Sicilian  born,  soon  appeared,  shoving,  with  little  cere- 
mony, through  the  guards  to  the  jail  door.  The 
Vesuvius  Fruit  Company  had  a  habit  of  doing  things 
that  way  in  Anchuria. 

"I  am  exceeding  sorry  —  exceeding  sorry,"  said 
the  captain,  "to  see  this  occur.  I  place  myself  at 
your  service,  Mr.  Maloney.  Whatever  you  need  shall 
be  furnished.     Whatever  you  say  shall  be  done. " 

Dicky  looked  at  him  unsmilingly.     His  red  hair 


302  Cabbages  and  Kings 

could  not  detract  from  his  attitude  of  severe  dignity 
as  he  stood,  tall  and  calm,  with  his  now  grim  mouth 
forming  a  horizontal  line. 

"  Captain  De  Lucco,  I  believe  I  still  have  funds  in 
the  hands  of  your  company  —  ample  and  personal 
funds.  I  ordered  a  remittance  last  week.  The 
money  has  not  arrived.  You  know  what  is  needed  in 
this  game.  Money  and  money  and  more  money. 
Why  has  it  not  been  sent  ?  " 

"  By  the  Cristobal, "  replied  De  Lucco,  gesticulat- 
ing, "it  was  despatched.  Where  is  the  Cristobal? 
Off  Cape  Antonio  I  spoke  her  with  a  broken  shaft. 
A  tramp  coaster  was  towing  her  back  to  New  Orleans. 
I  brought  money  ashore  thinking  your  need  for  it 
might  not  withstand  delay.  In  this  envelope  is  one 
thousand  dollars.  There  is  more  if  you  need  it,  Mr. 
Maloney. " 

"  For  the  present  it  will  suffice, "  said  Dicky,  soft- 
ening as  he  crinkled  the  envelope  and  looked  down  at 
the  half -inch  thickness  of  smooth,  dingy  bills. 

"  The  long  green ! "  he  said,  gently,  with  a  new  rev- 
erence in  his  gaze.  "  Is  there  anything  it  will  not  buy, 
Captain  ?  " 


Dicky  303 

*  I  had  three  friends, "  replied  De  Lucco,  who  was 
a  bit  of  a  philosopher,  "who  had  money.  One  of 
them  speculated  in  stocks  and  made  ten  million ;  an- 
other is  in  heaven,  and  the  third  married  a  poor  girl 
whom  he  loved. " 

"  The  answer,  then, "  said  Dicky,  "  is  held  by  the 
Almighty,  Wall  Street  and  Cupid.  So,  the  question 
remains. " 

"This,"  queried  the  captain,  including  Dicky's 
surroundings  in  a  significant  gesture  of  his  hand,  "  is  it 
—  it  is  not  —  it  is  not  connected  with  the  business  of 
your  little  shop  ?     There  is  no  failure  in  your  plans  ?  " 

"  No,  no, "  said  Dicky.  '*  This  is  merely  the  result 
of  a  little  private  affair  of  mine,  a  digression  from  the 
regular  line  of  business.  They  say  for  a  complete  life 
a  man  must  know  poverty,  love  and  war.  But  they 
don't  go  well  together,  caption  mio.  No;  there  is  no 
failure  in  my  business.  The  little  shop  is  doing 
very  well. " 

When  the  captain  had  departed  Dicky  called  the 
sergeant  of  the  jail  squad  and  asked: 

"  Am  I  preso  by  the  military  or  by  the  civil  author- 
ity?" 


304  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"Surely  there  is  no  martial  law  in  effect  now, 
sefior, " 

"  Bueno.  Now  go  or  send  to  the  alcalde,  the  Juez 
de  la  Paz  and  the  Jefe  de  los  Policios,  Tell  them  I 
am  prepared  at  once  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  justice. 
A  folded  bill  of  the  "long  green"  slid  into  the  ser- 
geant's hand. 

Then  Dicky's  smile  came  back  again,  for  he  knew 
that  the  hours  of  his  captivity  were  numbered;  and  he 
hummed,  in  time  with  the  sentry's  tread : 

"  They're  hanging  men  and  women  now. 
For  lacking  of  the  green." 

So,  that  night  Dicky  sat  by  the  window  of  the  room 
over  his  shop  and  his  little  saint  sat  close  by,  working 
at  something  silken  and  dainty.  Dicky  was  thought- 
ful and  grave.  His  red  hair  was  in  an  unusual  state 
of  disorder.  Pasa's  fingers  often  ached  to  smooth 
and  arrange  it,  but  Dicky  would  never  allow  it.  He 
was  poring,  to-night,  over  a  great  litter  of  maps 
and  books  and  papers  on  his  table  until  that  per- 
pendicular line  came  between  his  brows  that  always 
distressed  Pasa.     Presently  she  went  and  brought 


Dicky  305 

his  hat,  and  stood  with  it  until  he  looked  up,  in- 
quiringly. 

"  It  is  sad  for  you  here, "  she  explained.  "  Go  out 
and  drink  vino  bianco.  Come  back  when  you  get 
that  smile  you  used  to  wear.  That  is  what  I  wish  to 
see." 

Dicky  laughed  and  threw  down  his  papers.  "  The 
vino  bianco  stage  is  past.  It  has  served  its  turn. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  there  was  less  entered  my  mouth 
and  more  my  ears  than  people  thought.  But,  there 
will  be  no  more  maps  or  frowns  to-night.  I  promise 
you  that.     Come.  * 

They  sat  upon  a  reed  silleta  at  the  window  and 
watched  the  quivering  gleams  from  the  lights  of  the 
Catarina  reflected  in  the  harbour. 

Presently  Pasa  rippled  out  one  of  her  infrequent 
chirrups  of  audible  laughter. 

"  I  was  thinking, "  she  began,  anticipating  Dicky's 
question,  "of  the  foolish  things  girls  have  in  their 
minds.  Because  I  went  to  school  in  the  States  I  used 
to  have  ambitions.  Nothing  less  than  to  be  the  pres- 
ident's wife  would  satisfy  me.  And,  look,  thou  red 
picaroon,  to  what  obscure  fate  thou  hast  stolen  me ! " 


306  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"  Don't  give  up  hope,"  said  Dicky,  smiling.  More 
than  one  Irishman  has  been  the  ruler  of  a  South 
American  country.  There  was  a  dictator  of  Chili 
named  O'Higgins.  Why  not  a  President  Maloney, 
of  Anchuria  ?  Say  the  word,  santita  mia,  and  we'll 
make  the  race." 

"No,  no,  no,  thou  red-haired,  reckless  one!" 
sighed  Pasa;  "I  am  content"  —  she  laid  her  head 
against  his  arm  —  "here." 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 

Rouge  et  Noir 


IT  has  been  indicated  that  disaffection  followed 
the  elevation  of  Losada  to  the  presidency.  This 
feeling  continued  to  grow.  Throughout  the  en- 
tire republic  there  seemed  to  be  a  spirit  of  silent, 
sullen  discontent.  Even  the  old  Liberal  party  to 
which  Goodwin,  Zavalla  and  other  patriots  had  lent 
their  aid  was  disappointed.  Losada  had  failed  to 
become  a  popular  idol.  Fresh  taxes,  fresh  import 
duties  and,  more  than  all,  his  tolerance  of  the  out- 
rageous oppression  of  citizens  by  the  military  had 
rendered  him  the  most  obnoxious  president  since  the 
despicable  Alforan.  The  majority  of  his  own  cabi- 
net were  out  of  sympathy  with  him.  The  army, 
which   he   had   courted   by   giving    it    license   to 


308  Cabbages  and  Kings 

tyrannize,  had  been  his  main,  and  thus  far  adequate 

support. 

But  the  most  impolitic  of  the  administration's 
moves  had  been  when  it  antagonized  the  Vesuvius 
Fruit  Company,  an  organization  plying  twelve  steam- 
ers and  with  a  cash  capital  somewhat  larger  than 
Anchuria's  surplus  and  debt  combined. 

Reasonably,  an  established  concern  like  the  Vesu- 
vius would  become  irritated  at  having  a  small,  retail 
republic  with  no  rating  at  all  attempt  to  squeeze  it. 
So,  when  the  government  proxies  applied  for  a  sub- 
sidy they  encountered  a  polite  refusal.  The  presi- 
dent at  once  retaliated  by  clapping  an  export  duty 
of  one  real  per  bunch  on  bananas  —  a  thing  unprece- 
dented in  fruit-growing  countries.  The  Vesuvius 
Company  had  invested  large  sums  in  wharves  and 
plantations  along  the  Anchurian  coast,  their  agents 
had  erected  fine  homes  in  the  towns  where  they  had 
their  headquarters,  and  heretofore  had  worked  with 
the  republic  in  good-will  and  with  advantage  to  both. 
It  would  lose  an  immense  sum  if  compelled  to  move 
out.  The  selling  price  of  bananas  from  Vera  Cruz 
to  Trinidad  was  three  reals  per  bunch.     This  new 


Rouge  et  Noir  309 

duty  of  one  real  would  have  ruined  the  fruit  growers 
in  Anchuria  and  have  seriously  discommoded  the 
Vesuvius  Company  had  it  declined  to  pay  it.  But 
for  some  reason,  the  Vesuvius  continued  to  buy  An- 
churian  fruit,  paying  four  reals  for  it ;  and  not  suffer- 
ing the  growers  to  bear  the  loss. 

This  apparent  victory  deceived  His  Excellency; 
and  he  began  to  hunger  for  more  of  it.  He  sent  an 
emissary  to  request  a  conference  with  a  representa- 
tive of  the  fruit  company.  The  Vesuvius  sent  Mr. 
Franzoni,  a  little,  stout,  cheerful  man,  always  cool, 
and  whistling  airs  from  Verdi's  operas.  Seiior  Espi- 
rition,  of  the  office  of  the  Minister  of  Finance,  at- 
tempted the  sandbagging  in  behalf  of  Anchuria. 
The  meeting  took  place  in  the  cabin  of  the  Salvador, 
of  the  Vesuvius  line. 

Senor  Espirition  opened  negotiations  by  announc- 
ing that  the  government  contemplated  the  building 
of  a  railroad  to  skirt  the  alluvial  coast  lands.  After 
touching  upon  the  benefits  such  a  road  would 
confer  upon  the  interests  of  the  Vesuvius,  he 
reached  the  definite  suggestion  that  a  contribution 
to  the  road's  expenses  of,  say,  fifty  thousand  pesos 


310  Cabbages  and  Kings 

would  not  be  more  than  an  equivalent  to  benefits 

received. 

Mr.  Franzoni  denied  that  his  company  would  re- 
ceive any  benefits  from  a  contemplated  road.  As 
its  representative  he  must  decline  to  contribute  fifty 
thousand  pesos.  But  he  would  assume  the  respon- 
sibility of  offering  twenty-five. 

Did  Sefior  Espirition  understand  Sefior  Franzoni 
to  mean  twenty-five  thousand  pesos  ? 

By  no  means.  Twenty-five  pesos.  And  in  silver; 
not  in  gold. 

"  Your  offer  insults  my  government,"  cried  Sefior 
Espirition,  rising,  with  indignation. 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Franzoni,  in  a  warning  tone, 
"we  will  change  it." 

The  offer  was  never  changed.  Could  Mr.  Fran- 
zoni have  meant  the  government  ? 

This  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  Anchuria  when 
the  winter  season  opened  at  Coralio  at  the  end  of  the 
second  year  of  Losada's  administration.  So,  when 
the  government  and  society  made  its  annual  exodus 
to  the  seashore  it  was  evident  that  the  presidential 
advent  would  not  be  celebrated  by  unlimited  rejoic- 


Rouge  et  Noir  311 

ing.  The  tenth  of  November  was  the  day  set  for  the 
entrance  into  Coralio  of  the  gay  company  from  the 
capital.  A  narrow-guage  railroad  runs  twenty  miles 
into  the  interior  from  Solitas.  The  government 
party  travels  by  carriage  from  San  Mateo  to  this 
road's  terminal  point,  and  proceeds  by  train  to  Soli- 
tas. From  here  they  march  in  grand  procession  to 
Coralio  where,  on  the  day  of  their  coming,  festivities 
and  ceremonies  abound.  But  this  season  saw  an 
ominous  dawning  of  the  tenth  of  November. 

Although  the  rainy  season  was  over,  the  day  seemed 
to  hark  back  to  reeking  June.  A  fine  drizzle  of  rain 
fell  all  during  the  forenoon.  The  procession  entered 
Coralio  amid  a  strange  silence. 

President  Losada  was  an  elderly  man,  grizzly 
bearded,  with  a  considerable  ratio  of  Indian  blood 
revealed  in  his  cinnamon  complexion.  His  carriage 
headed  the  procession,  surrounded  and  guarded  by 
Captain  Cruz  and  his  famous  troop  of  one  hundred 
light  horse  "El  Ciento  Huilando."  Colonel  Rocas 
followed,  with  a  regiment  of  the  regular  army. 

The  president's  sharp,  beady  eyes  glanced  about 
him  for  the  expected  demonstration  of  welcome ;  but 


312  Cabbages  and  Kings 

he  faced  a  stolid,  indifferent  array  of  citizens.  Sight- 
seers the  Anchurians  are  by  birth  and  habit,  and  they 
turned  out  to  their  last  able-bodied  unit  to  witness 
the  scene;  but  they  maintained  an  accusive  silence. 
They  crowded  the  streets  to  the  very  wheel  ruts ;  they 
covered  the  red  tile  roofs  to  the  eaves,  but  there  was 
never  a  "viva"  from  them.  No  wreathes  of  palm 
and  lemon  branches  or  gorgeous  strings  of  paper 
roses  hung  from  the  windows  and  balconies  as  was 
the  custom.  There  was  an  apathy,  a  dull,  dissent- 
ing disapprobation,  that  was  the  more  ominous  be- 
cause it  puzzled.  No  one  feared  an  outburst,  a 
revolt  of  the  discontents,  for  they  had  no  leader. 
The  president  and  those  loyal  to  him  had  never 
even  heard  whispered  a  name  among  them  cap- 
able of  crystallizing  the  dissatisfaction  into  op- 
position. No,  there  could  be  no  danger.  The 
people  always  procured  a  new  idol  before  they 
destroyed  an  old  one. 

At  length,  after  a  prodigious  galloping  and  cur- 
vetting of  red-sashed  majors,  gold-laced  colonels  and 
epauletted  generals,  the  procession  formed  for  its 
annual  progress  down  the  Calle  Grande  to  the  Casa 


Rouge  et  Noir  313 

Morena,  where  the  ceremony  of  welcome  to  the 
visiting  president  always  took  place. 

The  Swiss  band  led  the  line  of  march.  After  it 
pranced  the  local  comandante,  mounted,  and  a  de- 
tachment of  his  troops.  Next  came  a  carriage  with 
four  members  of  the  cabinet,  conspicuous  among 
them  the  Minister  of  War,  old  General  Pilar,  with  his 
white  moustache  and  his  soldierly  bearing.  Then 
the  president's  vehicle,  containing  also  the  Ministers 
of  Finance  and  State;  and  surrounded  by  Captain 
Cruz's  light  horse  formed  in  a  close  double  file  of 
fours.  Following  them,  the  rest  of  the  officials  of 
state,  the  judges  and  distinguished  military  and 
social  ornaments  of  public  and  private  life. 

As  the  band  struck  up,  and  the  movement  began, 
like  a  bird  of  ill-omen  the  Valhalla,  the  swiftest  steam- 
ship of  the  Vesuvius  line,  glided  into  the  harbour 
in  plain  view  of  the  president  and  his  train.  Of 
course,  there  was  nothing  menacing  about  its  arrival 
—  a  business  firm  does  not  go  to  war  with  a  nation  — 
but  it  reminded  Senor  Espirition  and  others  in  those 
carriages  that  the  Vesuvius  Fruit  Company  was  un- 
doubtedly carrying  something  up  its  sleeve  for  them. 


314  Cabbages  and  Kings 

By  the  time  the  van  of  the  procession  had  reached 
the  government  building,  Captain  Cronin,  of  the 
Valhalla,  and  Mr.  Vincenti,  member  of  the  Vesuvius 
Company,  had  landed  and  were  pushing  their  way, 
bluff,  hearty  and  nonchalant,  through  the  crowd 
on  the  narrow  sidewalk.  Clad  in  white  linen,  big, 
debonair,  with  an  air  of  good-humoured  authority, 
they  made  conspicuous  figures  among  the  dark  mass 
of  unimposing  Anchurians,  as  they  penetrated  to 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  steps  of  the  Casa  Morena. 
Looking  easily  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  they 
perceived  another  that  towered  above  the  under- 
sized natives.  It  was  the  fiery  poll  of  Dicky  Maloney 
against  the  wall  close  by  the  lower  step;  and  his 
broad,  seductive  grin  showed  that  he  recognized 
their  presence. 

Dicky  had  attired  himself  becomingly  for  the  fes- 
tive occasion  in  a  well-fitting  black  suit.  Pasa  was 
close  by  his  side,  her  head  covered  with  the  ubiquit- 
ous black  mantilla. 

Mr.  Vincenti  looked  at  her  attentively. 

"  Botticelli's  Madonna,"  he  remarked,  gravely.  "  I 
wonder  when  she  got  into  the  game.     I  don't  like 


Rouge  et  Noir  315 

his  getting  tangled  with  the  women.  I  hoped  he 
would  keep  away  from  them." 

Captain  Cronin's  laugh  almost  drew  attention 
from  the  parade. 

"With  that  head  of  hair!  Keep  away  from  the 
women !  And  a  Maloney !  Hasn't  he  got  a  licence  ? 
But,  nonsense  aside,  what  do  you  think  of  the  pros- 
pects ?     It's  a  species  of  filibustering  out  of  my  line." 

Vincenti  glanced  again  at  Dicky's  head  and  smiled. 

"Rouge  et  noir"  he  said.  "There  you  have  it. 
Make  your  play,  gentlemen.  Our  money  is  on  the 
red." 

"The  lad's  game,"  said  Cronin,  with  a  commend- 
ing look  at  the  tall,  easy  figure  by  the  steps.  "  But 
'tis  all  like  fly-by-night  theatricals  to  me.  The  talk's 
bigger  than  the  stage;  there's  a  smell  of  gasoline  in 
the  air,  and  they're  their  own  audience  and  scene- 
shifters." 

They  ceased  talking,  for  General  Pilar  had  de- 
scended from  the  first  carriage  and  had  taken  his 
stand  upon  the  top  step  of  Casa  Morena.  As  the 
oldest  member  of  the  cabinet,  custom  had  decreed 
that  he  should  make  the  address  of  welcome,  present- 


316  Cabbages  and  Kings 

ing  the  keys  of  the  official  residence  to  the  president 

at  its  close. 

General  Pilar  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
citizens  of  the  republic.  Hero  of  three  wars  and  in- 
numerable revolutions,  he  was  an  honoured  guest 
at  European  courts  and  camps.  An  eloquent  speaker 
and  a  friend  to  the  people,  he  represented  the  highest 
type  of  the  Anchurians. 

Holding  in  his  hand  the  gilt  keys  of  Casa  Morena, 
he  began  his  address  in  a  historical  form,  touching 
upon  each  administration  and  the  advance  of  civili- 
zation and  prosperity  from  the  first  dim  striving  after 
liberty  down  to  present  times.  Arriving  at  the 
regime  of  President  Losada,  at  which  point,  accord- 
ing to  precedent,  he  should  have  delivered  a  eulogy 
upon  its  wise  conduct  and  the  happiness  of  the  peo- 
ple, General  Pilar  paused.  Then  he  silently  held 
up  the  bunch  of  keys  high  above  his  head,  with  his 
eyes  closely  regarding  it.  The  ribbon  with  which 
they  were  bound  fluttered  in  the  breeze. 

"It  still  blows,"  cried  the  speaker,  exultantly. 
"  Citizens  of  Anchuria,  give  thanks  to  the  saints  this 
night  that  our  air  is  still  free." 


Rouge  et  Noir  317 

Thus  disposing  of  Losada's  administration,  he 
abruptly  reverted  to  that  of  Olivarra,  Anchuria's 
most  popular  ruler.  Olivarra  had  been  assassinated 
nine  years  before  while  in  the  prime  of  life  and  useful- 
ness. A  faction  of  the  Liberal  party  led  by  Losada 
himself  had  been  accused  of  the  deed.  Whether 
guilty  or  not,  it  was  eight  years  before  the  ambitious 
and  scheming  Losada  had  gained  his  goal. 

Upon  this  theme  General  Pilar's  eloquence  was 
loosed.  He  drew  the  picture  of  the  beneficent  Oli- 
varra with  a  loving  hand.  He  reminded  the  people 
of  the  peace,  the  security  and  the  happiness  they 
had  enjoyed  during  that  period.  He  recalled  in 
vivid  detail  and  with  significant  contrast  the  last 
winter  sojourn  of  President  Olivarra  in  Coralio, 
when  his  appearance  at  their  fiestas  was  the  signal  for 
thundering  vivas  of  love  and  approbation. 

The  first  public  expression  of  sentiment  from  the 
people  that  day  followed.  A  low,  sustained  murmur 
went  among  them  like  the  surf  rolling  along  the 
shore. 

"Ten  dollars  to  a  dinner  at  the  Saint  Charles," 
remarked  Mr.  Vincenti,  "  that  rouge  wins." 


318  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"I  never  bet  against  my  own  interests,"  said 
Captain  Cronin,  lighting  a  cigar.  "Long-winded 
old  boy,  for  his  age.     What's  he  talking  about  ?" 

"  My  Spanish,"  replied  Vincenti,  "  runs  about  ten 
words  to  the  minute;  his  is  something  around  two 
hundred.  Whatever  he's  saying,  he's  getting  them 
warmed  up." 

"  Friends  and  brothers,"  General  Pilar  was  saying, 
"could  I  reach  out  my  hand  this  day  across  the 
lamentable  silence  of  the  grave  to  Olivarra  'the 
Good,'  to  the  ruler  who  was  one  of  you,  whose  tears 
fell  when  you  sorrowed,  and  whose  smile  followed 
your  joy  —  I  would  bring  him  back  to  you,  but  — 
Olivarra  is  dead  —  dead  at  the  hands  of  a  craven 


assassin 


The  speaker  turned  and  gazed  boldly  into  the  car- 
riage of  the  president.  His  arm  remained  extended 
aloft  as  if  to  sustain  his  peroration.  The  president 
was  listening,  aghast,  at  this  remarkable  address  of 
welcome.  He  was  sunk  back  upon  his  seat,  trem- 
bling with  rage  and  dumb  surprise,  his  dark  hands 
tightly  gripping  the  carriage  cushions. 

Half  rising,   he   extended   one   arm   toward    the 


Rouge  et  Noir  319 

speaker,  and  shouted  a  harsh  command  at  Captain 
Cruz.  The  leader  of  the  "  Flying  Hundred  "  sat  his 
horse,  immovable,  with  folded  arms,  giving  no  sign 
of  having  heard.  Losada  sank  back  again,  his  dark 
features  distinctly  paling. 

"  Who  says  that  Olivarra  is  dead  ?  "  suddenly  cried 
the  speaker,  his  voice,  old  as  he  was,  sounding  like 
a  battle  trumpet.  "  His  body  lies  in  the  grave,  but 
to  the  people  he  loved  he  has  bequeathed  his  spirit 

—  yes,  more  —  his  learning,  his  courage,  his  kindness 

—  yes,  more  —  his  youth,  his  image  —  people  of 
Anchuria,  have  you  forgotten  Ramon,  the  son  of 
Olivarra  ?  " 

Cronin  and  Vincenti,  watching  closely,  saw  Dicky 
Maloney  suddenly  raise  his  hat,  tear  off  his  shock  of 
red  hair,  leap  up  the  steps  and  stand  at  the  side  of 
General  Pilar.  The  Minister  of  War  laid  his  arm 
across  the  young  man's  shoulders.  All  who  had 
known  President  Olivarra  saw  again  his  same  lion- 
like pose,  the  same  frank,  undaunted  expression,  the 
same  high  forehead  with  the  peculiar  line  of  the 
clustering,  crisp  black  hair. 

General  Pilar  was   an   experienced   orator.     He 


320  Cabbages  and  Kings 

seized  the  moment  of  breathless   silence  that   pre- 
ceded the  storm. 

"Citizens  of  Anchuria,"  he  trumpeted,  holding 
aloft  the  keys  to  Casa  Morena,  "  I  am  here  to  deliver 
these  keys  —  the  keys  to  your  homes  and  liberty  — 
to  your  chosen  president.  Shall  I  deliver  them  to 
Enrico  Olivarra's  assassin,  or  to  his  son  ?  " 

"Olivarra!  Olivarra!"  the  crowd  shrieked  and 
howled.  All  vociferated  the  magic  name  —  men, 
women,  children  and  the  parrots. 

And  the  enthusiasm  was  not  confined  to  the  blood 
of  the  plebs.  Colonel  Rocas  ascended  the  steps  and 
laid  his  sword  theatrically  at  young  Ramon  Olivarra's 
feet.  Four  members  of  the  cabinet  embraced  him. 
Captain  Cruz  gave  a  command,  and  twenty  of  El 
Ciento  Huilando  dismounted  and  arranged  them- 
selves in  a  cordon  about  the  steps  of  Casa  Morena. 

But  Ramon  Olivarra  seized  that  moment  to  prove 
himself  a  born  genius  and  politician.  He  waved 
those  soldiers  aside,  and  descended  the  steps  to  the 
street.  There,  without  losing  his  dignity  or  the  dis- 
tinguished elegance  that  the  loss  of  his  red  hair 
brought  him,  he  took  the  proletariat  to  his  bosom  — 


Rouge  et  Noir  321 

the  barefooted,  the  dirty,  Indians,  Caribs,  babies, 
beggars,  old,  young,  saints,  soldiers  and  sinners  — 
he  missed  none  of  them. 

While  this  act  of  the  drama  was  being  presented, 
the  scene  shifters  had  been  busy  at  the  duties  that 
had  been  assigned  to  them.  Two  of  Cruz's  dragoons 
had  seized  the  bridle  reins  of  Losada's  horses ;  others 
formed  a  close  guard  around  the  carriage;  and  they 
galloped  off  with  the  tyrant  and  his  two  unpopular 
Ministers.  No  doubt  a  place  had  been  prepared  for 
them.  There  are  a  number  of  well -barred  stone 
apartments  in  Coralio. 

"Rouge  wins,"  said  Mr.  Vincenti,  calmly  light- 
ing another  cigar. 

Captain  Cronin  had  been  intently  watching  the 
vicinity  of  the  stone  steps  for  some  time. 

"  Good  boy ! "  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  as  if  relieved. 
"I  wondered  if  he  was  going  to  forget  his  Kathleen 
Mavourneen." 

Young  Olivarra  had  reascended  the  steps  and 
spoken  a  few  words  to  General  Pilar.  Then  that 
distinguished  veteran  descended  to  the  ground  and 
approached   Pasa,    who   still    stood,    wonder-eyed, 


322  Cabbages  and  Kings 

where  Dicky  had  left  her.  With  his  plumed  hat  in 
his  hand,  and  his  medals  and  decorations  shining  on 
his  breast,  the  general  spoke  to  her  and  gave  her  his 
arm,  and  they  went  up  the  stone  steps  of  the  Casa 
Morena  together.  And  then  Ramon  Olivarra  stepped 
forward  and  took  both  her  hands  before  all  the 
people. 

And  while  the  cheering  was  breaking  out  afresh 
everywhere,  Captain  Cronin  and  Mr.  Vincenti  turned 
and  walked  back  toward  the  shore  where  the  gig  was 
waiting  for  them. 

"There'll  be  another  'presidente  proclamada'  in 
the  morning, "  said  Mr.  Vincenti,  musingly.  "  As  a 
rule  they  are  not  as  reliable  as  the  elected  ones,  but 
this  youngster  seems  to  have  some  good  stuff  in  him. 
He  planned  and  manoeuvred  the  entire  campaign. 
Olivarra' s  widow,  you  know,  was  wealthy.  After  her 
husband  was  assassinated  she  went  to  the  States,  and 
educated  her  son  at  Yale.  The  Vesuvius  Company 
hunted  him  up,  and  backed  him  in  the  little  game.  " 

"  It's  a  glorious  thing, "  said  Cronin,  half  jestingly, 
"  to  be  able  to  discharge  a  government,  and  insert  one 
of  your  own  choosing,  in  these  days. " 


Rouge  et  Noir  323 

"  Oh,  it  is  only  a  matter  of  business,  "  said  Vincenti, 
stopping  and  offering  the  stump  of  his  cigar  to  a  mon- 
key that  swung  down  from  a  lime  tree ;  "  and  that  is 
what  moves  the  world  of  to-day.  That  extra  real 
on  the  price  of  bananas  had  to  go.  We  took  the  short* 
est  way  of  removing  it.  " 


CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN 

Two  Recalls 


1  HERE  remains  three  duties  to  be  performed  be- 
fore the  curtain  falls  upon  the  patched  comedy.  Two 
have  been  promised :  the  third  is  no  less  obligatory. 

It  was  set  forth  in  the  programme  of  this  tropic 
vaudeville  that  it  would  be  made  known  why  Shorty 
O'Day,  of  the  Columbia  Detective  Agency,  lost  his 
position.  Also  that  Smith  should  come  again  to  tell 
us  what  mystery  he  followed  that  night  on  the  shores 
of  Anchuria  when  he  strewed  so  many  cigar  stumps 
around  the  cocoanut  palm  during  his  lonely  night 
vigil  on  the  beach.  These  things  were  promised ;  but 
a  bigger  thing  yet  remains  to  be  accomplished  —  the 
clearing  up  of  a  seeming  wrong  that  has  been  done 
according  to  the  array  of  chronicled  facts  (truthfully 


Two  Recalls  325 

set  forth)  that  have  been  presented.  And  one  voice, 
speaking,  shall  do  these  three  things. 

Two  men  sat  on  a  stringer  of  a  North  River  pier  in 
the  City  of  New  York.  A  steamer  from  the  tropics 
had  begun  to  unload  bananas  and  oranges  on  the  pier. 
Now  and  then  a  banana  or  two  would  fall  from  an 
overripe  bunch,  and  one  of  the  two  men  would  sham- 
ble forward,  seize  the  fruit  and  return  to  share  it  with 
his  companion. 

One  of  the  men  was  in  the  ultimate  stage  of  deteri- 
oration. As  far  as  rain  and  wind  and  sun  could 
wreck  the  garments  he  wore,  it  had  been  done.  In 
his  person  the  ravages  of  drink  were  as  plainly  visible. 
And  yet,  upon  his  high-bridged,  rubicund  nose  was 
jauntily  perched  a  pair  of  shining  and  flawless  gold- 
rimmed  glasses. 

The  other  man  was  not  so  far  gone  upon  the  de- 
scending Highway  of  the  Incompetents.  Truly,  the 
flower  of  his  manhood  had  gone  to  seed  —  seed  that, 
perhaps,  no  soil  might  sprout.  But  there  were  still 
cross-cuts  along  where  he  travelled  through  which  he 
might  yet  regain  the  pathway  of  usefulness  without 
disturbing  the  slumbering  Miracles.     This  man  was 


326  Cabbages  and  Kings 

short  and  compactly  built.  He  had  an  oblique,  dead 
eye,  like  that  of  a  sting-ray,  and  the  moustache  of  a 
cocktail  mixer.  We  know  the  eye  and  the  moustache; 
"  we  know  that  Smith  of  the  luxurious  yacht,  the  gor- 
geous raiment,  the  mysterious  mission,  the  magic  dis- 
appearance, has  come  again,  though  shorn  of  the  ac- 
cessories of  his  former  state. 

At  his  third  banana,  the  man  with  the  nose  glasses 
spat  it  from  him  with  a  shudder. 

"  Deuce  take  all  fruit ! "  he  remarked,  in  a  patrician 
tone  of  disgust.  "  I  lived  for  two  years  where  these 
things  grow.  The  memory  of  their  taste  lingers  with 
you.  The  oranges  are  not  so  bad.  Just  see  if  you 
can  gather  a  couple  of  them,  O'Day,  when  the  next 
broken  crate  comes  up.  " 

"Did  you  live  down  with  the  monkeys?"  asked 
the  other,  made  tepidly  garrulous  by  the  sunshine  and 
the  alleviating  meal  of  juicy  fruit.  "I  was  down 
there,  once  myself.  But  only  for  a  few  hours.  That 
was  when  I  was  with  the  Columbia  Detective  Agency. 
The  monkey  people  did  me  up.  I'd  have  my 
job  yet  if  it  hadn't  been  for  them.  I'll  tell  you 
about  it. 


Two  Recalls  327 

"  One  day  the  chief  sent  a  note  around  to  the  office 
that  read:  'Send  O'Day  here  at  once  for  a  big  piece 
of  business.'  I  was  the  crack  detective  of  the  agency 
at  that  time.  They  always  handed  me  the  big  jobs. 
The  address  the  chief  wrote  from  was  down  in  the 
Wall  Street  district. 

"  When  I  got  there  I  found  him  in  a  private  office 
with  a  lot  of  directors  who  were  looking  pretty  fuzzy. 
They  stated  the  case.  The  president  of  the  Republic 
Insurance  Company  had  skipped  with  about  a  tenth 
of  a  million  dollars  in  cash.  The  directors  wanted 
him  back  pretty  bad,  but  they  wanted  the  money 
worse.  They  said  they  needed  it.  They  had  traced 
the  old  gent's  movements  to  where  he  boarded  a 
tramp  fruit  steamer  bound  for  South  America  that 
same  morning  with  his  daughter  and  a  big  gripsack 
—  all  the  family  he  had. 

"  One  of  the  directors  had  his  steam  yacht  coaled 
and  with  steam  up,  ready  for  a  trip ;  and  he  turned  her 
over  to  me,  cart  blongsh.  In  four  hours  I  was  on  board 
of  her,  and  hot  on  the  trail  of  the  fruit  tub.  I  had 
a  pretty  good  idea  where  old  Wahrfield  —  that  was 
his  name,  J.  Churchill  Wahrfield  —  would  head  for. 


328  Cabbages  and  Kings 

At  that  time  we  had  a  treaty  with  about  every  foreign 
country  except  Belgium  and  that  banana  republic, 
Anchuria.  There  wasn't  a  photo  of  old  Wahrfield 
to  be  had  in  New  York  —  he  had  been  foxy  there  — 
but  I  had  his  description.  And  besides,  the  lady  with 
him  would  be  a  dead-give-away  anywhere.  She  was 
one  of  the  high-flyers  in  Society  —  not  the  kind  that 
have  their  pictures  in  the  Sunday  papers  —  but  the 
real  sort  that  open  chrysanthemum  shows  and  chris- 
ten battleships. 

"  Well,  sir,  we  never  got  a  sight  of  that  fruit  tub 
on  the  road.  The  ocean  is  a  pretty  big  place;  and 
I  guess  we  took  different  paths  across  it.  But  we 
kept  going  toward  this  Anchuria,  where  the  fruiter 
was  bound  for. 

"  We  struck  the  monkey  coast  one  afternoon  about 
four.  There  was  a  ratty-looking  steamer  off  shore 
taking  on  bananas.  The  monkeys  were  loading  her 
up  with  big  barges.  It  might  be  the  one  the  old  man 
had  taken,  and  it  might  not.  I  went  ashore  to  look 
around.  The  scenery  was  pretty  good.  I  never  saw 
any  finer  on  the  New  York  stage.  I  struck  an  Ameri- 
can on  shore,  a  big,  cool  chap,  standing  around  with 


Two  Recalls  329 

the  monkeys.  He  showed  me  the  consul's  office.  The 
consul  was  a  nice  young  fellow.  He  said  the  fruiter 
was  the  Karlsefin,  running  generally  to  New  Orleans, 
but  took  her  last  cargo  to  New  York.  Then  I  was 
sure  my  people  were  on  board,  although  everybody 
told  me  that  no  passengers  had  landed.  I  didn't 
think  they  would  land  until  after  dark,  for  they  might 
have  been  shy  about  it  on  account  of  seeing  that 
yacht  of  mine  hanging  around.  So,  all  I  had  to  do 
was  to  wait  and  nab  'em  when  they  came  ashore.  I 
couldn't  arrest  old  Wahrfield  without  extradition  pa- 
pers, but  my  play  was  to  get  the  cash.  They  gener- 
ally give  up  if  you  strike  'em  when  they're  tired  and 
rattled  and  short  on  nerve. 

"After  dark  I  sat  under  a  cocoanut  tree  on  the 
beach  for  a  while,  and  then  I  walked  around  and  in- 
vestigated that  town  some,  and  it  was  enough  to  give 
you  the  lions.  If  a  man  could  stay  in  New  York  and 
be  honest,  he'd  better  do  it  than  to  hit  that  monkey 
town  with  a  million. 

"Dinky  little  mud  houses;  grass  over  your  shoe 
tops  in  the  streets;  ladies  in  low-neck-and-short- 
sleeves  walking  around  smoking  cigars;    tree  frogs 


330  Cabbages  and  Kings 

rattling  like  a  hose  cart  going  to  a  ten  blow;  big 
mountains  dropping  gravel  in  the  back  yards,  and  the 
sea  licking  the  paint  off  in  front  —  no,  sir  —  a  man 
had  better  be  in  God's  country  living  on  free  lunch 
than  there. 

"  The  main  street  ran  along  the  beach,  and  I  walked 
down  it,  and  then  turned  up  a  kind  of  lane  where  the 
houses  were  made  of  poles  and  straw.  I  wanted  to 
see  what  the  monkeys  did  when  they  weren't  climbing 
cocoanut  trees.  The  very  first  shack  I  looked  in  I 
saw  my  people.  They  must  have  come  ashore  while 
I  was  promenading.  A  man  about  fifty,  smooth  face, 
heavy  eyebrows,  dressed  in  black  broadcloth,  looking 
like  he  was  just  about  to  say,  *  Can  any  little  boy  in 
the  Sunday  school  answer  that?'  He  was  freezing 
on  to  a  grip  that  weighed  like  a  dozen  gold  bricks, 
and  a  swell  girl  —  a  regular  peach,  with  a  Fifth  Ave- 
nue cut — was  sitting  on  a  wooden  chair.  An  old  black 
woman  was  fixing  some  coffee  and  beans  on  a  table. 
The  light  they  had  come  from  a  lantern  hung  on  a 
nail.  I  went  and  stood  in  the  door,  and  they  looked 
at  me,  and  I  said : 

"'Mr.  Wahrfield,  you  are  my  prisoner.     I  hope, 


Two  Recalls  331 

for  the  lady's  sake,  you  will  take  the  matter  sensibly. 
You  know  why  I  want  you. ' 

" '  Who  are  you  ? '  says  the  old  gent. 

"'O'Day, '  says  I,  'of  the  Columbia  Detective 
Agency.  And  now,  sir,  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of 
good  advice.  You  go  back  and  take  your  medicine 
like  a  man.  Hand  'em  back  the  boodle;  and  maybe 
they'll  let  you  off  light.  Go  back  easy,  and  I'll  put  in 
a  word  for  you.  I'll  give  you  five  minutes  to  decide.' 
I  pulled  out  my  watch  and  waited. 

"  Then  the  young  lady  chipped  in.  She  was  one  of 
the  genuine  high-steppers.  You  could  tell  by  the  way 
her  clothes  fit  and  the  style  she  had  that  Fifth  Avenue 
was  made  for  her. 

"'Come  inside,'  she  says.  'Don't  stand  in  the 
door  and  disturb  the  whole  street  with  that  suit  of 
clothes.     Now,  what  is  it  you  want  ? ' 

" '  Three  minutes  gone, '  I  said.  *  I'll  tell  you  again 
while  the  other  two  tick  off. 

" '  You'll  admit  being  the  president  of  the  Repub- 
lic, won't  you  ? ' 

"'lam,'  says  he. 

"'Well,  then,'  says  I,  'it  ought  to  be  plain  to  you. 


332  Cabbages  and  Kings 

Wanted,  in  New  York,  J.  Churchill  Wahrfield,  presi- 
dent of  the  Republic  Insurance  Company. 

"'Also  the  funds  belonging  to  said  company,  now 
in  that  grip,  in  the  unlawful  possession  of  said  J. 
Churchill  Wahrfield.' 

" '  Oh-h-h-h ! '  says  the  young  lady,  as  if  she  was- 
thinking,  *  you  want  to  take  us  back  to  New  York  ? ' 

"'To  take  Mr.  Wahrfield.  There's  no  charge 
against  you,  miss.  There'll  be  no  objection,  of 
course,  to  your  returning  with  your  father. ' 

"Of  a  sudden  the  girl  gave  a  tiny  scream  and 
grabbed  the  old  boy  around  the  neck.  '  Oh,  father, 
father!'  she  says,  kind  of  contralto,  'can  this  be 
true?  Have  you  taken  money  that  is  not  yours? 
Speak,  father!'  It  made  you  shiver  to  hear  the 
tremolo  stop  she  put  on  her  voice. 

"The  old  boy  looked  pretty  bughouse  when  she 
first  grappled  him,  but  she  went  on,  whispering  in  his 
ear  and  patting  his  off  shoulder  till  he  stood  still,  but 
sweating  a  little. 

"  She  got  him  to  one  side  and  they  talked  together  a 
minute,  and  then  he  put  on  some  gold  eyeglasses  and 
walked  up  and  handed  me  the  grip. 


Two  Recalls  333 

"'Mr.  Detective,'  he  says,  talking  a  little  broken, 
'I  conclude  to  return  with  you.  I  have  finished  to 
discover  that  life  on  this  desolate  and  displeased  coast 
would  be  worse  than  to  die,  itself.  I  will  go  back  and 
hurl  myself  upon  the  mercy  of  the  Republic  Com- 
pany.    Have  you  brought  a  sheep  ? ' 

" '  Sheep ! '  says  I ;  *  I  haven't  a  single  — ' 

"  *  Ship,'  cut  in  the  young  lady.  '  Don't  get  funny. 
Father  is  of  German  birth,  and  doesn't  speak  perfect 
English.     How  did  you  come  ? ' 

"  The  girl  was  all  broke  up.  She  had  a  handker- 
chief to  her  face,  and  kept  saying  every  little  bit, '  Oh, 
father,  father ! '  She  walked  up  to  me  and  laid  her  lily- 
white  hand  on  the  clothes  that  had  pained  her  at  first. 
I  smelt  a  million  violets.  She  was  a  lulu.  I  told  her 
I  came  in  a  private  yacht. 

" '  Mr.  O'Day, '  she  says.  *  Oh,  take  us  away  from 
this  horrid  country  at  once.  Can  you !  Will  you ! 
Say  you  will. ' 

" '  I'll  try,'  I  said,  concealing  the  fact  that  I  was  dy- 
ing to  get  them  on  salt  water  before  they  could  change 
their  mind. 

"One  thing  they  both  kicked  against  was  going 


334  Cabbages  and  Kings 

through  the  town  to  the  boat  landing.  Said  they 
dreaded  publicity,  and  now  that  they  were  going  to  re- 
turn, they  had  a  hope  that  the  thing  might  yet  be  kept 
out  of  the  papers.  They  swore  they  wouldn't  go  un- 
less I  got  them  out  to  the  yacht  without  any  one  know- 
ing it,  so  I  agreed  to  humour  them. 

"The  sailors  who  rowed  me  ashore  were  playing 
billiards  in  a  bar-room  near  the  water,  waiting  for  or- 
ders, and  I  proposed  to  have  them  take  the  boat  down 
the  beach  half  a  mile  or  so,  and  take  us  up  there.  How 
to  get  them  word  was  the  question,  for  I  couldn't 
leave  the  grip  with  the  prisoner,  and  I  couldn't  take  it 
with  me,  not  knowing  but  what  the  monkeys  might 
stick  me  up. 

"The  young  lady  says  the  old  coloured  woman 
would  take  them  a  note.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  it,  and 
gave  it  to  the  dame  with  plain  directions  what  to  do, 
and  she  grins  like  a  baboon  and  shakes  her  head. 

"  Then  Mr.  Wahrfield  handed  her  a  string  of  for- 
eign dialect,  and  she  nods  her  head  and  says,  *  See, 
seiior,'  maybe  fifty  times,  and  lights  out  with  the  note. 

"  f  Old  Augusta  only  understands  German,'  said 
Miss  Wahrfield,  smiling  at  me.     *  We  stopped  in  her 


Two  Recalls  335 

house  to  ask  where  we  could  find  lodging,  and  she  in- 
sisted upon  our  having  coffee.  She  tells  us  she  was 
raised  in  a  German  family  in  San  Domingo.' 

"'Very  likely,'  I  said.  'But  you  can  search  me 
for  German  words,  except  nix  verstay  and  noch  einst. 
I  would  have  called  that "  See,  sefior  "  French,  though, 
on  a  gamble.' 

"  Well,  we  three  made  a  sneak  around  the  edge  of 
town  so  as  not  to  be  seen.  We  got  tangled  in  vines 
and  ferns  and  the  banana  bushes  and  tropical  scenery 
a  good  deal.  The  monkey  suburbs  was  as  wild  as 
places  in  Central  Park.  We  came  out  on  the  beach  a 
good  half  mile  below.  A  brown  chap  was  lying 
asleep  under  a  cocoanut  tree,  with  a  ten-foot  musket 
beside  him.  Mr.  Wahrfield  takes  up  the  gun  and 
pitches  it  into  the  sea.  'The  coast  is  guarded,'  he 
says.  'Rebellion  and  plots  ripen  like  fruit.'  He 
pointed  to  the  sleeping  man,  who  never  stirred. 
'Thus,'  he  says,  'they  perform  trusts.     Children!' 

"  I  saw  our  boat  coming,  and  I  struck  a  match  and 
lit  a  piece  of  newspaper  to  show  them  where  we  were. 
In  thirty  minutes  we  were  on  board  the  yacht. 

"  The  first  thing,  Mr.  Wahrfield  and  his  daughter 


336  Cabbages  and  Kings 

and  I  took  the  grip  into  the  owner's  cabin,  opened  it 
up,  and  took  an  inventory.  There  was  one  hundred 
and  five  thousand  dollars,  United  States  treasury 
notes  in  it,  besides  a  lot  of  diamond  jewelry  and  a 
couple  of  hundred  Havana  cigars.  I  gave  the  old 
man  the  cigars  and  a  receipt  for  the  rest  of  the  lot,  as 
agent  for  the  company,  and  locked  the  stuff  up  in  my 
private  quarters. 

"  I  never  had  a  pleasanter  trip  than  that  one.  After 
we  got  to  sea  the  young  lady  turned  out  to  be  the  jolli- 
est  ever.  The  very  first  time  we  sat  down  to  dinner, 
and  the  steward  filled  her  glass  with  champagne  — 
that  director's  yacht  was  a  regular  floating  Waldorf- 
Astoria  —  she  winks  at  me  and  says,  '  What's  the  use 
to  borrow  trouble,  Mr.  Fly  Cop  ?  Here's  hoping  you 
may  live  to  eat  the  hen  that  scratches  on  your  grave.' 
There  was  a  piano  on  board,  and  she  sat  down  to  it 
and  sung  better  than  you  give  up  two  cases  to  hear 
plenty  times.  She  knew  about  nine  operas  clear 
through.  She  was  sure  enough  bon  ton  and  swell. 
She  wasn't  one  of  the  'among  others  present'  kind; 
she  belonged  on  the  special  mention  list ! 

"The  old  man,  too,  perked  up  amazingly  on  the 


Two  Recalls  337 

way.  He  passed  the  cigars,  and  says  to  me  once, 
quite  chipper,  out  of  a  cloud  of  smoke,  '  Mr.  O'Day, 
somehow  I  think  the  Republic  Company  will  not  give 
me  the  much  trouble.  Guard  well  the  gripvalise  of 
the  money,  Mr.  O'Day,  for  that  it  must  be  returned 
to  them  that  it  belongs  when  we  finish  to  arrive. ' 

"  When  we  landed  in  New  York  I  'phoned  to  the 
chief  to  meet  us  in  that  director's  office.  We  got  in 
a  cab  and  went  there.  I  carried  the  grip,  and  we 
walked  in,  and  I  was  pleased  to  see  that  the  chief 
had  got  together  that  same  old  crowd  of  moneybugs 
with  pink  faces  and  white  vests  to  see  us  march  in.  I 
set  the  grip  on  the  table.     *  There's  the  money,'  I  said. 

" '  And  your  prisoner  ? '  said  the  chief. 

"  I  pointed  to  Mr.  Wahrfield,  and  he  stepped  for- 
ward and  says : 

"  *  The  honour  of  a  word  with  you,  sir,  to  explain.' 

"He  and  the  chief  went  into  another  room  and 
stayed  ten  minutes  ?  When  they  came  back  the  chief 
looked  as  black  as  a  ton  of  coal. 

" '  Did  this  gentleman,'  he  says  to  me,  '  have  this 
valise  in  his  possession  when  you  first  saw  him  ? ' 

"'He  did,' said  I. 


338  Cabbages  and  Kings 

"The  chief  took  up  the  grip  and  handed  it  to  the 
prisoner  with  a  bow,  and  says  to  the  director  crowd: 
'  Do  any  of  you  recognize  this  gentleman  ? ' 

"They  all  shook  their  pink  faces. 

" '  Allow  me  to  present/  he  goes  on,  *  Sefior  Mira- 
flores,  president  of  the  republic  of  Anchuria.  The 
seiior  has  generously  consented  to  overlook  this  out- 
rageous blunder,  on  condition  that  we  undertake  to 
secure  him  against  the  annoyance  of  public  comment. 
It  is  a  concession  on  his  part  to  overlook  an  insult  for 
which  he  might  claim  international  redress.  I  think 
we  can  gratefully  promise  him  secrecy  in  the  matter.' 

"  They  gave  him  a  pink  nod  all  round. 

"'O'Day,'  he  says  to  me.  'As  a  private  detective 
you're  wasted.  In  a  war,  where  kidnapping  govern- 
ments is  in  the  rules,  you'd  be  invaluable.  Come 
down  to  the  office  at  eleven.' 

"  I  knew  what  that  meant. 

"'So  that's  the  president  of  the  monkeys/ says  I. 
'  Well,  why  couldn't  he  have  said  so  ? ' 

"Wouldn't  it  jar  you?" 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN 

The  Vitagraphoscope 


VAUDEVILLE  is  intrinsically  episodic  and  dis- 
continuous. Its  audiences  do  not  demand  de- 
nouements. Sufficient  unto  each  "turn"  is  the  evil 
thereof.  No  one  cares  how  many  romances  the 
singing  comedienne  may  have  had  if  she  can  capably 
sustain  the  limelight  and  a  high  note  or  two.  The 
audiences  reck  not  if  the  performing  dogs  get 
to  the  pound  the  moment  they  have  jumped 
through  their  last  hoop.  They  do  not  desire 
bulletins  about  the  possible  injuries  received  by 
the  comic  bicyclist  who  retires  head-first  from  the 
stage  in  a  crash  of  (property)  china-ware.  Neither 
do  they  consider  that  their  seat  coupons  entitle 
them   to   be   instructed    whether  or  no  there  is  a 


340  Cabbages  and  Kings 

sentiment  between  the  lady  solo  banjoist  and  the 

Irish  monologist. 

Therefore  let  us  have  no  lifting  of  the  curtain  upon 
a  tableau  of  the  united  lovers,  backgrounded  by  de- 
feated villainy  and  derogated  by  the  comic,  osculating 
maid  and  butler,  thrown  in  as  a  sop  to  the  Cerberi 
of  the  fifty-cent  seats. 

But  our  programme  ends  with  a  brief  "turn"  or 
two;  and  then  to  the  exits.  Whoever  sits  the  show 
out  may  find,  if  he  will,  the  slender  thread  that  binds 
together,  though  ever  so  slightly,  the  story  that,  per- 
haps, only  the  Walrus  will  understand. 

Extracts  from  a  letter  from  the  first  vice-president 
of  the  Republic  Insurance  Company,  of  New  York 
City,  to  Frank  Goodwin,  of  Coralio,  Republic  of 
Anchuria. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Goodwin: — Your  communication 
per  Messrs.  Howland  and  Fourchet,  of  New  Orleans, 
has  reached  us.  Also  their  draft  on  N.  Y.  for  $100,- 
000,  the  amount  abstracted  from  the  funds  of  this 
company  by  the  late  J.  Churchill  Wahrfield,  its  for- 
mer president.  .  .  .  The  officers  and  directors 
unite  in  requesting  me  to  express  to  you  their  sincere 
esteem  and  thanks  for  your  prompt  and  much  appre- 


The  Vitagraphoscope  341 

ciated  return  of  the  entire  missing  sum  within  two 
weeks  from  the  time  of  its  disappearance.  .  .  . 
Can  assure  you  that  the  matter  will  not  be  allowed  to 
receive  the  least  publicity.  .  .  .  Regret  exceed- 
ingly the  distressing  death  of  Mr.  Wahrfield  by  his 
own  hand,  but  .  .  .  Congratulations  on  your 
marriage  to  Miss  Wahrfield  .  .  .  many  charms, 
winning  manners,  noble  and  womanly  nature  and  en- 
vied position  in  the  best  metropolitan  society.  .  .  . 
Cordially  yours, 

Lucius  E.  Applegate, 
First  Vice-President  the  Republic  Insurance 
Company. 

The  Vitagraphoscope 
(Moving  Pictures) 
The  Last  Sausage 

Scene  —  An  Artist's  Studio.  The  artist,  a  young 
man  of  prepossessing  appearance,  sits  in  a  dejected 
attitude,  amid  a  litter  of  sketches,  with  his  head 
resting  upon  his  hand.  An  oil  stove  stands  on  a  pine 
box  in  the  centre  of  the  studio.  The  artist  rises, 
tightens  his  waist  belt  to  another  hole,  and  lights  the 
stove.     He  goes  to  a  tin  bread  box,  half-hidden  by 


342  Cabbages  and  Kings 

a  screen,  takes  out  a  solitary  link  of  sausage,  turns 
the  box  upside-down  to  show  that  there  is  no  more, 
and  chucks  the  sausage  into  a  frying-pan,  which  he 
sets  upon  the  stove.  The  flame  of  the  stove  goes  out, 
showing  that  there  is  no  more  oil.  The  artist,  in 
evident  despair,  seizes  the  sausage,  in  a  sudden  access 
of  rage,  and  hurls  it  violently  from  him.  At  the  same 
time  a  door  opens,  and  a  man  who  enters  receives 
the  sausage  forcibly  against  his  nose.  He  seems  to 
cry  out ;  and  is  observed  to  make  a  dance  step  or  two, 
vigorously.  The  newcomer  is  a  ruddy-faced,  active, 
keen-looking  man,  apparently  of  Irish  ancestry. 
Next  he  is  observed  to  laugh  immoderately;  he  kicks 
over  the  stove;  he  claps  the  artist  (who  is  vainly 
striving  to  grasp  his  hand)  vehemently  upon  the  back. 
Then  he  goes  through  a  pantomime  which  to  the 
sufficiently  intelligent  spectator  reveals  that  he  has 
acquired  large  sums  of  money  by  trading  pot-metal 
hatchets  and  razors  to  the  Indians  of  the  Cordillera 
Mountains  for  gold  dust.  He  draws  a  roll  of  money 
as  large  as  a  small  loaf  of  bread  from  his  pocket, 
and  waves  it  above  his  head,  while  at  the  same  time 
he  makes  pantomime  of  drinking  from  a  glass.     The 


The  Vitagraphoscope  343 

artist  hurriedly  secures  his  hat,  and  the  two  leave  the 
studio  together. 

The  Writing  on  the  Sands 

Scene  —  The  Beach  at  Nice.  A  woman,  beau- 
tiful, still  young,  exquisitely  clothed,  complacent, 
poised,  reclines  near  the  water,  idly  scrawling  letters 
in  the  sand  with  the  staff  of  her  silken  parasol.  The 
beauty  of  her  face  is  audacious;  her  languid  pose  is 
one  that  you  feel  to  be  impermanent  —  you  wait,  ex- 
pectant, for  her  to  spring  or  glide  or  crawl,  like  a 
panther  that  has  unaccountably  become  stock-still. 
She  idly  scrawls  in  the  sand;  and  the  word  that  she 
always  writes  is  "  Isabel."  A  man  sits  a  few  yards 
away.  You  can  see  that  they  are  companions,  even 
if  no  longer  comrades.  His  face  is  dark  and  smooth, 
and  almost  inscrutable  —  but  not  quite.  The  two 
speak  little  together.  The  man  also  scratches  on 
the  sand  with  his  cane.  And  the  word  that  he  writes 
is  "Anchuria."  And  then  he  looks  out  where  the 
Mediterranean  and  the  sky  intermingle,  with  death 
in  his  gaze. 


344  Cabbages  and  Kings 

The  Wilderness  and  Thou 
Scene  —  The  Borders  of  a  Gentleman9 s  Estate  in  a 
Tropical  Land.  An  old  Indian,  with  a  mahogany- 
coloured  face,  is  trimming  the  grass  on  a  grave  by  a 
mangrove  swamp.  Presently  he  rises  to  his  feet  and 
walks  slowly  toward  a  grove  that  is  shaded  by  the 
gathering,  brief  twilight.  In  the  edge  of  the  grove 
stand  a  man  who  is  stalwart,  with  a  kind  and  courte- 
ous air,  and  a  woman  of  a  serene  and  clear-cut  loveli- 
ness. When  the  old  Indian  comes  up  to  them  the 
man  drops  money  in  his  hand.  The  grave-tender, 
with  the  stolid  pride  of  his  race,  takes  it  as  his  due, 
and  goes  his  way.  The  two  in  the  edge  of  the  grove 
turn  back  along  the  dim  pathway,  and  walk  close, 
close  —  for,  after  all,  what  is  the  world  at  its  best 
but  a  little  round  field  of  the  moving  pictures  with 
two  walking  together  in  it  ? 

CURTAIN 


THE  McCLDRE  PRESS,  NEW  YORK 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINIANA 


